IlIBRARY OF CONGRESS.^ 



I [SMITHSONIAN DEPOSIT.] Z 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



HOME GAENER; 



Intcllcdual aiA Poral Sta fitiuse: 



GATHERED FOR THE 



FAMILY CIRCLE 



FEOM THE RICH EXPERIENCE OF MANY FAITHFUL REAPERS. 



MRS. MAEY G. CLARKE. 



Character is mainly moulded by the cast of the minds that surround it— Tcppeb. 



xi^^. 



PHILADELPHIA: 
J. B. L I P P I N C T T & CO. 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by 

M. G. CLARKE, 

In the Office of the Clerk of the District Court of the United States, in and 
for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 



TO 



^fjc Utmkrs of l|t gomcstit Cirdf, 



TTITH THE HOPE 



THAT IT MAY INCITE IN THEIR HEARTS A WARMER ZEAL TO 
PROMOTE ITS INTERESTS, 



AND GIVE A PRESHENED GLOW TO THE ALTAR-PIEES OP HO]iIE. 



J\-}k Koli|i7)e k S^Sic^fe5 



THE COMPILER, 



CONTENTS. 



A. 

PAGE 

A Happy Home, 8 

A Prayer for Little Children, 24 

Alice Hartwell, 25 

An Incident, 58 

A Christmas Letter, 59 

A Motherless Student, 117 

Alice Raymond's Security, 125 

A Mother's Trust, 127 

A Mother's Jewels, 181 

A Night Three Thousand Years Ago,... 220 

A Mother's Trials, 251 

A Leaf from a Step-Mother's Journal,.. 257 

A Story for Little Girls, 274 

A Missionary's Parewell to his Parents, 292 

A Model Character, 295 

A Letter from the West, 313 

A Voice from Heaven, 318 

A Beautiful Custom, 320 

A Sister's Influence, 338 

B. 

Be Gentle with the Children, 157 

C. 

Come to Jesus, 23 

Christ in Human Flesh, 128 

Cares and Comforts, 138, 182, 208 

Clothing for Girls 148 

Christ is Tender, 243 

Couldn't! Cos he Sung so, 270 

Childhood 282 

Children and Children's Parties, 347 

Christian Duty in the Choice of a Com- 
panion for Life, 411 

D. 

Do they Miss me at Home ? 33 

Deal Gently with the Timid Child, 37 

Dancing, 225 

Dr. Grant and the Mountain Nestorians, 259 



E. 

Early Culture of Children, 115 

Earth's Angels 134 

Emma's Visit to the Country, 245 



Epitaph on my Little Willy, 250 

Exercise, 302 

Early Impressions, 322 

F. 

Forest Fountain, 231 

Father in the Family, 232 

Female Influence, 373 



G. 

General Directions for the Physical 
Education of Children, 54 

General Directions for the Physical 
Education of Children, 253 

Gentle Words, 258 



H. 

He Doeth all Things Well,..^. „ 52 

Home's bright Star, 122 

How to avoid abaci Husband, 316 

Home is where there is one to Love us,. 321 

How Harry became a Thief, 360 

How we know an Animal from a Vege- 
table, 378 

I. 

Influence of Parents, 57 

Is this truly a privileged age for Children, 123 

I will call to Remembrance, 145 

I long for thee. Mother, 173 

Important Discipline, 325 

J. 

Juvenile Delinquency, 177 

L. 

Look to God, ]3 

Little Willie and his Shilling, 64 

Little Things, 113 

Letters to Young Ladies, 196 

Little Things 271 

Lift up thv Heart, 301 

LoAl Los't! 311 

(5) 



CONTENTS. 



M. 

PAGE 

Mount Moriah, ;^9 

Mother, 79 

My Mother, 97 

Maternal Influence, 103 

May Morning, 135 

Mother, 248 

Maternal Responsibility, 261 

Moral and Mental Education, 283 

Mother, Home, and Heaven...... 340 

My Angel Mother, , 376 

N. 

Novel Reading,. 69 

Night, 214 

Nursery Daguerreotypes, 381 

0. 

Our Little Brother, 7 

On the Conversion of Little Children,... 150 
On Religious conversation with Children, 279 

P. 

Pleasures of Religion, 49 

Poison Antidotes, 62 

Passing Winter, 71 

Physical Education of Children, 190 

Pleasant Children, 263 

Precious Memories, 386 

R. 

Remarks to Christian Mothers, 34 

Reading the Bible with Children, 168 

Respect due to ^Vives, ISO 

Recollections of Home, 2SS 

Remembrances of the Aged, 299 

Recollections of my Home, 305 

Recollections of Home, ..».. 3X0 

Recollections of Home, 363 



S. 

Showers, 63 

Sabbath Musings, 102 

Sympathy, 146 

Sunrise, 167 

Self-Improvement, 241 

Step-Mothers, 382 



T. 

The New Year, ]1 

The Culture of Taste, 15, 40 

True Estimate of Time, 21 

This Hand never struck Me, 32 

The Strawberry Excursion, 47 

The only Child of his Mother 6S 

The Memory of the Just is Blessed, 78 

The Rabbit's Instinct, 80 

The Little Girl's Heart, 82 

The Sunshine of Home, 84, 110 

Two in Heaven, 87 



PAflE 

The Cure for Pear, 88 

The Value of the Religious element in 

Society, 90 

The Accepted Offering, 98 

The Little Girl's Dream, ]U 

The Table Cloth, liy 

The Christian Family in its relation to 

the Church, ; 130 

The Teachings of Jesus, 132 

The Dove, 153 

The Proposed Journey, 154, 175 

The Door in the Heart, 156 

The Beggar, 160 

The Evil Tree, 161 

The Lark that soaring Sings, 165 

The Value of Time, 174 

The Oasis, 195 

The Mother and the Son, 199 

The Decision, 215 

The Three Kingdoms of Nature 217 

The Birth-right of American Youth,,... 222 

There are no Homes in Burmah, 229 

The Orphan Girl's Prayer, 230 

Twilight Musings, 244 

The Key to the Heart, 249 

The Influence of Trifles, 255 

The Pioneer Mother, 264 

The Rainbow, 278 

The World for Sale, 280 

The Morn of Life, 291 

The Antidote of Care, 292 

The Proposed Journey, 311 

The Jewel not Lost, 317 

The Early Dead, 319 

The Work of Female Missionaries, 323 

There is Peace alone on High, 334 

The Journey, 335 

The Erring Son and Praying Mother,... 336 

The Sainted Dead, 343 

The Harvest Moon, 350 

Thy Father, 351 

The Character of Dr. A. Judson, 352 

The Watch and the Soul, 358 

Thou Shalt not Steal, 359 

The Covenant, 372 

The Bible the Mother's Study, 388 

The Bible the Mother's Rule in its prin- 
ciples of government, 394 

The Bible furnishes the Mother materials 

for Intellectual Training, 400 

The Bible the Mother's sole Guide in 

Religious Culture, 406 

V. 

Vanity of Earthly Glory, 327 

W. 

Woman's Rights, 72 

Wanted : An Honest, Industrious B03',.. 96 

What a Mother should Teach, 136 

What the Chinese Do, 192 

Words of Consolation to a Bereaved 

Mother, 236 



HOME GARNER. 



OUR LITTLE BROTHER. 



BY MRS. E. C. JUDSON. 

" Touch him softly, Margaretta/* 

Three-years Annie -wisely spake, 
Lest his curious, waxen fingers, 

In our strong, big hands should break,— 
Never was there such another, 
As our darling baby-brother V 

" See his eyes, like brook-side blossoms, 

And his little parted mouth, 
"With the soft breath coming through it, 

Like the May winds from the South. 
Oh, God never made another, 
Half so sweet as our sweet brother !" 

"I have just been thinking something, — 

Something beautiful, if true, 
And bend softly, Margaretta, 

While I whisper it to you. 
Well we know earth holds no other, 
Like our darling baby brother.* 

" And my thought is, that the Father, 

Whom we pray to in the skies, 
Just because He loves us dearly, 

Just to give us sweet surprise, 
Sent His angels, with no other. 
Than an angel, f )r our brother.'' 

(7) 



A HAPPY HOME. 



A HAPPY HOME. 

What heart-thriUing words ! A charm encircles them as our eyes 
trace the letters which form them. They are full of meaning, for 
they combine circumstances, individuals, thoughts, feelings, habits and 
actions. They tell of a sanctuary where the better part of our 
nature is enshrined, into which the turmoil, and bustle, and strife of 
the great world never come. With what bounding steps would the 
poor wanderers over life's dreary desert turn, if they could be assured 
that for them there was a happy home, on earth. The desolation 
which settles like a pall on the orphan heart, vrould be lifted, by the 
sweet words, "a happy home for thee'' 

But as we look at the human family, we find that it is not alone 
the outcast and the friendless who sigh for happy homes. Many 
homes there are, where unhappiness broods with her long train of 
wretchedness and discontent. As we reflect upon this we are led to 
inquire, what constitutes a happy home ? 

We think of a home as the abode, the resting place of individuals? 
allied to each other by ties of nature and affection — father, mother, 
children — all more or less dependent upon each other, but under the 
control and guidance of some particular member. Locality, commo- 
diousness and worldly means, may do much toward enhancing the 
happiness, but they do not form the most important requisites in 
rendering such the abode of peace and joy. Every physical want 
may be supplied and still the heart be a stranger to happiness. 
Circumstances are not the almoners of such a bounty. It is confined 
to no spot or condition. It may dwell with affluence, and gladden 
the hearts of those who recline on silken couches, and partake of the 
choicest dainties. It may shed sunshine on the lowliest cot, where 
only a scanty dinner of herbs is shared by its inmates. 

It does not consist in honeyed words and fond carcssings, for there 
are often times when these are out of place and unavailing, or prove 
but daggers to pierce the liearts of those on whom they are lavished. 

To make a home truly happy, it is not necessary that any of its 
inmates should entirely crucify their own taste and judgment, and 
serve only the caprices and whims of others, wearing hypocritical 



A HAPPY HOME. 



smiles ; or for each to close his eyes to, and be ignorant of every 
blemish which may appear in the others. To increase happiness in 
any state, the highest perfection should be sought: hence in the 
family circle one important means to insure it, is to see, and correct 
in a kind judicious manner the faults of each other. Parents and 
children 'sometimes form mistaken views of the basis, on which 
domestic love and happiness rest. That to be affectionate parents 
or children and make home happy, they must not for a moment 
indulge the thought that either can have a fault. We know that 
full, perfect, complete happiness cannot be enjoyed, only in the 
entire absence of every imperfection, and this can never be found 
but in the family of the redeemed, in their home above. " Perfec- 
tion must not be looked for this side of heaven : the trail of the ser- 
pent is over all her flowers." Yet in the present state there may be, 
there are happy homes. 

Confiding love and virtue must be their foundation, but other ele- 
ments must enter into their superstructure. The husband may 
truly love the wife, and yet make her the victim of unhappiness, by 
hasty censure, or thoughtless neglect. The wife may ardently love 
her husband, and yet render his home a place of wretchedness by her 
fretful complainings, and inattentions to his wishes or comfort. The 
sister may love and weep over her wayward brother, yet devise no 
means to make home attractive to him, or win back his misguided 
affections to their proper centre. The brother may love his sister 
and yet chill her heart by cold reserve, and indifference to her warm 
sympathies. The strictest integrity may characterize the conduct 
of individuals, and still their home be destitute of every thing that 
gives a glow and charm to life. 

There must be a kind consideration of the feelings of each other, 
aiid a harmony of views and purposes. There can be little union 
where discordant opinions and clashing pursuits are brought in close 
contact. Their opinions may differ, but they must be kindly ex- 
pressed, and the contrary ones as kindly heard. Different views 
may be entertained with a meek conscientious firmness, which will 
command the deeper love and respect of the opponent. Each 
member must know not only his own temperament and disposition, 
but the others ; that every word and action may be calculated to 
produce the happiest effect upon the whole. Each must be willing 
and prompt to bear his or her share in toil and service, for the 



10 A HAPPY HOME. 



general good. There can be no idle ones in a happy family ; none 
•who are intent only upon serving themselves. There can be no 
TTrath, envy, jealousy ; — no taunts or jeers. There must be a head to 
give direction, to control and govern ; whom all respect and revere. 
A ship may be well built and strong, completely rigged, and richly 
freighted, her sails all spread to a favoring gale, but without a helm 
how will she keep her course ? So in a home, there must be a 
steady, firm, wise hand on the wheel of action, or it cannot be 
happy. 

We have thus glanced at a few important requisites in the con- 
stitution of a happy home. But the most important of all, the 
crowning excellence, without which there must be a void, — an evane- 
scence to the dearest joys, is Religion ; that calm, all pervading, all 
controlling spirit of faith and love, which gives peace in storms, 
which lightens care, subdues the wicked propensities of the human 
heart, and looks upon the present state of being as a preparation 
for an eternal one of holiness and happiness, in the mansions made 
by God for those who serve him on earth. No system of morality 
can compare with that found in the Bible, and the households whose 
hearts and conduct are controlled by its precepts, are households 
where harmony and love distil like the dew. 

And such happiness is not easily destroyed. Trials and priva- 
tions may come, but the household of faith are but drawn by them, 
nearer to each other, and firmer to their almighty hopes. Death 
may enter and take some of its most treasured loved ones, but their 
happiness does not depart, for while they weep, they rejoice with a 
holier joy, that some of their number have been released from pain 
and sin, and are forever at rest. One by one the stars of earthly 
hope may set, but they rise in Glory, until the blessed family are all 
gathered in their eternally Happy Home. Mrs. M. G. Clarke. 



" Oh, let the deathless link itself with life. 
High on the wings of its own love upsoar, 
And with the glorious ranks that throng the sky 
Drink ceaseless draughts of truth and happiness. ** 



THE NEW YEAR — FOR WHAT HAS IT COME. 11 



THE NEW YEAR-rOR WHAT HAS IT COME? 

BY REV. L. P ARM ELY. 

The New Year's dawn awakens a universal tliriH of joy and 
life through the city and land. The day is ushered in with the rap- 
ture of light and merry hearts, and celebrated with festal sweets 
and friendly congratulations. We bid the new year welcome with a 
delighted and bounding heart, and leave all else to go forth and pay 
unto it our glad homage. And all this is proper — it is, indeed, a 
just occasion for joy; and we may truly say, " a happy new year !" 
to each other, who are graciously spared to behold its commence- 
ment. And we ought, above all, to render thanksgiving unto God, 
that we are alive to welcome another year. 

And now, since we have greeted the new year with our joyful sal- 
utations, and these out-bursts of merriment are over, let us draw 
near, and try to become more fully acquainted with our new friend 
— the new year. Contemplate the year now before us — for what has 
it come ? What will it bring forth? Does one say, ''''It shall he to 
me a year of health?'' Ah! are you certain — do you know this ? 
Has this year whispered the assurance in your heart, that it will 
bring to you no days of sickness and nights of distress ? Does 
another say, ^' It shall he to me a year without afflictions or sorrows?'* 
Are you sure of this ? Did the herald of the new year bring you 
the cheering tidings, that none of your friends were to die ? that 
the grave should not close, amid your falling tears, over some near 
and dear to your heart, and the end of this year find you in deep 
mourning for those you loved and lost? Does another say, ^' It 
shall he to me a year of life f Do you know that ? Did this year 
meet you with the sweet promise that it would not forsake you — that 
all its days were your own — that all its suns should greet your spark- 
ling eyes — that the breeze of its Spring should fan you — that its 
Summer flowers should be a garland upon your head — that its 
Autumn leaves should be the carpet of your joyful feet— that the 
breath of its dying winter should bless you in the full vigor of life ? 



12 THE NEW YEAR — FOE, WHAT HAS IT COME. 

Did the year embrace jou with the warm and full assurance that it 
would not cast you from its arms into the cold, dark grave ? 

In vain do we look for any such promises. The year stands before 
us in profound silence. We may ask what it has for us, but it an- 
swers not — we may cry, "New Year! what hast thou come to do 
with us ?" but all is silent. The year meets us like some mysterious 
one, wrapped up and hid from view — all its intentions are concealed? 
and, by searching, who can find them out ? Who can tell whether 
this year has come to crown us with blessings, or to fill us with sor- 
rows ? to give us health and life, or sickness and death ? We lay 
our plans in thick darkness. The survey of life's onward path is 
lost in a wilderness of uncertainty. The year before us is an ocean 
wherein human calculations can find no soundings — we cast out the 
anchor of our anticipations upon precarious hopes. We make our 
voyage without light-house or Polar star. The awful breakers of 
death may be just upon us. While we are planning to "go into 
such a city, and continue there a year and buy, and sell, and get 
gain ;" even while we are listening to the siren song, " Soul thou 
hast much goods laid up for many years" — our boat may strike the 
wharf of eternity, and cast us out into that land where earthly barns 
and banquets avail nothing. 

The year 1856 — 0, what events shall this date mark ? Mysterious 
figures (1856) — what scenes will they perpetuate ? Will they be 
chiselled upon our tombstone and tell the passing traveller the year 
our earthly journey was finished? Will " 1856 " be engraved upon 
the monumental slab over the sleeping dust of some dear friend? 

The departed year is the truest interpreter of the present. Not 
only the blessings and joys, but also the afllictions and sorrows. 
The deaths and graves of the old year cast their prophetic shadow 
into the new, and tell of coming sorrows, deaths and graves. Into 
whose face does the broad death-shade fall — to whose grave does the 
finger of doom point ? In the dead of 1855 is reflected a long train 
of every class and age, appointed to die in 1856. Are any of us in 
thi'o solemn procession — are any of our friends there ? Has Heaven's 
dread decree confirmed, " This year tliou sJialt die!^' 

" Could I prophetic say 
"Who next is fated and who next to fall, 
The rest might then seem privileged to play ; 
But naming none, the Voice now speaks to all" — 
<' PREPARE TO MEET THY GOD." 



LOOK TO GOD. 13 



LOOK TO GOD! 



T MRS. A. M. E D M N D. 



Of all those who have especial need to look heavenward for grace 
and strength to bear the ills and cares of life, a mother stands among 
the foremost. Surrounded by young immortal spirits that shall live 
when sun, moon and stars expire, and which she has herself been 
instrumental in bringing into existence, she is conscious of a weight 
of responsibility which none but a parent can feel. 

If she is of a candid, reflecting mind, she will be sensible of a 
deficiency, a weakness, and often an incompetency for the task of 
training her children aright : yet she knows God never imposes upon 
a human being a task greater than can be performed — a duty 
impossible of fulfilment — for he has provided aid for the hour of 
need, and ample strength for the day of trial. They who look to 
God in humility and faith, for wisdom and help, will never look in 
vain. It matters not how arduous duty may appear, or how peculiar 
are the circumstances which surround our pathway, if we but look 
heavenward for help, it will surely come. Yet how difiicult is it for 
the human heart to come in simple faith to God 1 What cares 
obstruct, what doubts and fears arise. Yet thus, and thus only can 
we come if we would expect a blessing. 

Look to God ! As a child, yes, as one of our own dear children 
turns its eyes beseechingly upon us for help and guidance, so we, 
who are but children in spiritual things, must lift our eyes imploringly 
heavenward, not doubtingly, but with a genuine spirit of confidence 
and love. Great indeed and glorious is the privilege thus permitted 
our poor dependent natures, to look upward for help, eternal, 
unfailing, and ever ready in the darkest hours of need. To whom 
should this privilege be more precious than to one who is called to 
falfil the important duties of a mother. Does she gaze for the first 
time upon the beloved and helpless being committed to her charge ; 
with earnest, yet anxious love bearing in remembrance the new and 
solemn weight of responsibility resting upon her ? Let her look to 
God for wisdom and assistance, and no task will be lighter or sweeter 
than that she is now called upon to fulfil. In after days, is her 



14 LOOK TO GOD. 



patience and love tried by the waywardness of her precious charge, 
as temptation lures the feet from the right path, and the young 
heart turns its desires and affections upon things forbidden ? More 
earnestly, more confidently, let her look heavenward, and plead for 
her beloved one, the restraining grace of the Most High. Is she 
called to watch beside its couch when, sick and suffering, its wail of 
pain strikes not only her ear, but the tenderest chords of her soul, 
while she seems to see, just without the threshold, the shadow of 
the Spoiler ready to enter and bear her loved one away ? Let her 
look to God in whom is all power to heal and save. Human skill is 
impotent in this hour of anguish, for in hands Divine alone, are the 
issues of life and the mandates of death. Is the golden link broken 
that bound the mother to her child, the life that was so closely linked 
to her life ruthlessly torn away by death ? Crushed, hopeless, and 
forlorn, does she gaze through her tearful vision on the beloved one 
arrayed for the tomb ? Then, then, let her raise her eyes to 
heaven, let her look to God, and behold there her cherished treasure, 
not lost, but gone before, and forming a new and sweet attraction to 
the abodes of celestial life and peace. In joy or sorrow, in doubt 
and weakness, in fear or in confidence, a mother has ever need to 
look to God. 

Glorious, inestimable privilege! never to be lightly esteemed or 
neglected, for, it is in the power of a mother to achieve through her 
influence and prayers great and powerful moral triumphs that will 
be felt and remembered to the end of time, to obtain the choicest 
blessings for those who are dearest to her heart, in this life, and in 
the life that is to come, everlasting bliss. Wealth, power, fame and 
lank will never secure these, they are bought with prayers, and 
earnest supplications, and glances to the throne of the Most High ! 



' My boy, as gently on my breast, 
From infimt sport thou sink'st to rest, 
And on my hand, I feel thee put, 
In playful dreams, thy little foot, 
The thrilling touch sets every string 
Of my full heart a quivering; 
For, ah! I think, what chart can show 
The ways through which this foot must goJ 



THE CULTURE OF TASTE — ITS PERSONAL ADVANTAGES. 15 

THE CULTURE OF TASTE AN IMPORTANT ELEMENT IN FEMALE EDUCATION. 

ITS PERSONAL ADVANTAGES. 

BY MES. M. T. EICHARDS. 

Taste is the power of justly appreciating and enjoying the 
beautiful, grand, or sublime, whether in the kingdom of nature or 
of art. It is a universal principle in the human mind, some 
possessing it in a greater, others in a less degree. In some minds 
it is active by exercise, in others dormant through neglect. The 
culture of the taste consists in its exercise and gratification upon its 
appropriate objects, thereby imparting to it more nicety of perception, 
and to its possessor more exquisite enjoyment. 

As a people we are deficient in the exercise of this principle. The 
utilitarian tendencies growing out of our formative state of society, 
have in their excess prevented the development of our finer senti- 
ments and feelings. The aged, whose earthly race is well nigh run, 
recoo-nize not the beauties which have been strewn along their 
pathway during a life-long pilgrimage. Manhood with hurrying 
step and brow of care passes them unheeded by. Youth, so eagerly 
grasping for prospective goods, stays not to enjoy the present ; even 
our daughters, with their freedom from care, their time for elegant 
avocations, and the mental organization peculiar to woman, are 
involved in the general deficiency. Although these are the indi- 
viduals whom, of all others, we might presume to be exempt from 
such a charge, yet we are constrained to say that as a class they 
do not possess cultivated tastes. Certain kinds of taste they do 
indeed manifest : taste in dress and embroidery, in the painting of 
flowers, and the performance of piano-forte music, but a taste 
discerning, correct, and refined, which perceives the beautiful 
wherever it may be found, which is alive to the charms of nature, 
appreciates the triumphs of art, and enjoys the excellencies of 
literature, is not a common attainment among our daughters. 

The cause of this deficiency, we think, is two-fold. There is a 
fault in home education, and by this we mean the ministry of all 
those influences which are constantly forming the opening mind of 



16 THE CULTURE OF TASTE — ITS PERSONAL AD\rANTAGES. 

infancy and cliildhood, and which so surely mould the future 
chardcter. As a result of the state of society to which we have 
alluded, these influences are not fitted to develope the taste of the 
child, or to assist its young spirit in discovering how beautiful is the 
theatre of existence upon which it has so recently entered. Again 
there is an error in school education. While provision is made for 
the developement of the reason, memory, and judgment, the direct 
culture of the taste is overlooked. The routine of study may 
embrace natural science, languages, mathematics, and metaphysics, 
yet often the greatest benefit the student derives from these, is the 
knowledge of certain facts and axioms which may or may not be of 
practical advantage to her in after life, and a certain mental 
discipline varying according to the manner in which her studies 
have been prosecuted. Now our complaint is not that these studies 
are pursued, but that they are pursued no further and no deeper. 
The student commences a department of natural or moral science. 
Lesson after lesson is recited and the treatise is finished, but of how 
many new ideas is she possessed ? What expansion of mind has she 
gained ? How much greater is her appreciation of the wonderful 
laws of the material or intellectual world. She may have been hurried 
from chapter to chapter with such rapidity that scarcely could her 
intellect recognize these truths, much less her spirit feel their hidden 
power and beauty. She has not followed them out in their far 
reaching effects till her mind fully appreciated their wondrous 
complication, yet inimitable harmony, awakening the rejoicings of 
her spirit, and kindling the incense of adoration for their Author. 
This state of things is most deprecated by the teacher, but her task 
is assigned her. There is a given list of studies to be pursued by 
her pupils, and a given portion of time in which to acquire them. 
Hence the natural desideratum, both of teacher and pupil is to make 
as honorable an array as possible of external appearances, leaving 
internal education to take care of itself. Like the traveller in the 
rail-car, the student must not stop to admire the beauties on the way 
lest she fail to reach the destined goal in season. This error will 
not be remedied until we are as willing to bestow time and expense 
upon the education of our daughters as upon that of our sons. 

The objects on which taste may be exercised are, in the physical 
world, as innumerable as are the multiplied gradations from the 
texture and tint of the rose-leaf, to the gorgeous pavilion of purple 



THE CULTURE OF TASTE — ITS PERSONAL ADVANTAGES. 17 

and gold from which the sun descends to his nightly rest ; from the 
plumage of the butterfly's wing to the brilliant arch of the rainbow, 
hushing by its spell of wondrous beauty, the wrath of the retiring 
storm. They present in wide contrast the majestic gloom of the 
starry night, and the radiant joy of the blooming morning, the 
peaceful sleep of the moonlit lake, and the careering of the storm- 
wind in the night of his pride and power. In the intellectual world, 
we behold art, which sits as a handmaiden to shadow forth nature's 
glory, and attains her highest excellence when she best represents 
her perfect model. The picture and the statue are beautiful, but 
cannot rival their originals. In the contemplation, therefore, of the 
works of Painting and Sculpture, our highest pleasure arises, not 
from the works themselves, but from the skill of the artist which 
they display. Music and Poetry are not purely imitative arts, hence 
the delight they inspire is of a higher order. As we listen to music 
we admire indeed the skill of the composer and performer, but our 
chief delight is imparted by the melody of sweet sounds itself, by 
the touching influence through which the soul melts in tenderness or 
dilates with joy. Poetry is a representation in language of that 
which will gratify the taste. Here too we may admire the genius 
of the poet, but a spiritual response to the sentiments he utters, an 
imbibing of the spirit of poetry which he breathes, are the elements 
of intellectual joy. This art presents a boundless field for the 
gratification of taste. The sparkling brilliancy of Moore, and the 
gloomy grandeur of Young, the sustained sweetness of Hemans, and 
the sublime strains of Coleridge, the soaring flight of the youthful 
Pollok, as on angel wing he advances far into the measureless course 
of eternity, and the "adventurous song" of Milton, whose lofty 
genius portrays the wonders of "heaven, earth, hell, chaos," all 
open as it were interminable vistas of richness and beauty, in which 
we are privileged to enjoy the sweet and sublime revealings of those 
gifted ones, who in the inner sanctuary of the soul have held converse 
with nature, with their own spirits, and with God. The moral world 
likewise presents objects for the exercise of a refined taste. Religion 
itself has been styled the poetry of all mankind, and a late writer 
has justly said, ^' Every truly religious being possesses indeed the 
purest and deepest fountain of poetry within him, and the more holy 
he becomes the more his mind is filled with vast subjects of thought, 
and his imagination enriched with grandeur, and led to revel amid 

2 



18 THE CULTURE OF TASTE — ITS PERSONAL ADVANTAGES. 

the celestial wonders of the upper world, till his conceptions are all 
habitually expanded and transfigured with glory." 

Thus the physical, intellectual, and moral world abound in mani- 
festations of beauty and sublimity. These are the objects of taste, 
and not more exquisitely is the eye fitted for seeing, or the ear for 
hearing, than is the spirit of man for receiving enjoyment from 
these objects. And happy is he who passes on his way with an eye 
open to the beauties around him, who binds not his soul within the 
narrow limits of his earthly tabernacle, but permits it to wander 
unconfined over the boundless arena of nature's glories, and to revel 
amid her "general dance and minstrelsy." Happy is he who has so 
cultivated his finer sentiments and feelings that he shall ever feel 
the presence of the all-pervading spirit of poetry. 

Now whether we consider the peculiar mental characteristics of 
woman, or the paths of intellectual gratification and enjoyment which 
are fairly open for her occupancy, or the sphere of social life which 
she may fill, a cultivated taste will be acknowledged an element of 
prime importance in her education. As one of its most prominent 
advantages, it multiplies sources of enjoyment. The necessity of 
amusements as a relaxation from labor and care enters into our 
mental and physical constitution. " They are," as a beautiful 
writer has said, " the w^ells of the desert : the kind resting places at 
which toil may relax, where the weary spirit may recover its tone, 
and where the desponding mind may reassume its strength and its 
hopes." Our beneficent Creator has kindly provided for this 
necessity of our being. Whatever can delight the eye, or please the 
ear, he has bestowed upon us with an unsparing hand. Yet how 
many, having eyes, see not the beauty which meets them at every 
step ; having ears, hear not the melody which is borne on every 
breeze. How many, forgetting these innocent and rational sources 
of enjoyment which God has provided, seek gratification in tlie 
pursuits of fashion, frivolity and revelry. How many, insensible to 
these, seem to have no amusement whatever, and hence look upon 
this goodly earth and all that is thereon, upon life and all its sacred 
sweets with a jaundiced eye, as if a pall of funereal gloom had 
enshrouded every sunny object in existence. Not so with the woman 
of cultivated taste. For her life is full of poetry and beauty. 
Whether ahe go forth at morn, at noontide, or at even, all things 
minister to her pleasure. Unto her, nature singeth a perpetual 



THE CULTURE OF TASTE — ITS PERSONAL ADVANTAGES. 19 

hymn, harmonizing all her voices, from the deep bass of the thunder's 
roar to the soft soprano of the nightingale's song. She lives in 
communion with those " spiritual beings that walk the earth, unseen 
both when we wake and when we sleep." She hears the light 
footsteps of angels as they speed on the wings of the wind, and sees 
their ethereal drapery in the snowy fleeciness of the summer cloud. 
Literature pours forth its treasures at her feet, while art imitates 
nature's glories and reflects them to her view. With such mental 
companionship she is a stranger to loneliness and discontent, and 
though ofttimes she may be wearied by earthly toil, yet one smile 
from the goddess of beauty, shall free her fettered spirit from tlie 
shackles of care, and remove the dust of earthliness from her spiritual 
vision. Her joy shall come in like a flood. 

A cultivated taste also refines and exalts the mind. As a 
fundamental principle, implanted within the mind by its Creator, 
the taste claims as assiduous a development as does the memory or 
the judgment. But it should be cultivated not only for its own sake 
but for the influence it exerts over the other intellectual powers. 
The mental faculties are sympathetic in their action. They all 
exert a reciprocal influence. No one can be fully developed without 
transmitting the effects of that culture to the entire mind. This is 
especially true of the principle of taste. When it is in exercise, it 
seems to add a new zeal to every other faculty, to blend the w^hole 
into harmonious action, and to shed a grace over the entire intellec- 
tual being. The mind likewise, gradually assimilates itself to its 
pursuits. If these are low and contracted, it will become base and 
grovelling. If beautiful and lofty images throng the chambers of 
the intellect, they will exert their transforming influence upon it. 
By virtue of its progressive nature it will become more boundless in 
its conceptions, and more refined in its sensibilities. It will rise 
higher and yet higher in the scale of intellectual being. It will 
acquire a new consciousness of its native dignity. It will flow forth 
in whatever is honorable in action, and in those kindly courtesies 
which fall upon life's pathway as noiseless and full of blessing, as 
the softly distilling dew. 

The affections equally with the intellect feel the transforming 
power of a cultivated taste. It enables us to discover excellencies 
whose existence we had otherwise never suspected, and as by virtue 
of our spiritual constitution we must love excellence as soon as it is 



20 THE CULTURE OF TASTE — ITS PERSONAL ADVANTAGES. 

perceived, the sphere of our affections becomes continually enlarged. 
Though they may have hitherto moved in the narrow circle of selfish 
interest, they now go involuntarily out after the beautiful and the 
good till they embrace the wide universe of God. The pleasures of 
taste are incompatible with selfishness. Their possessor deeply longs 
for sympathy, and finds the joy but half complete till he share it 
with a kindred spirit. It is to this principle that we are indebted 
for some of our noblest works of art. The poet dwells not alone in 
the glorious ideal regions which his fancy is ever creating, but 
embodies his glowing conceptions in language, because his joy is 
expansive. It must flow forth, seeking an answering response in 
the universal human heart. Hence, too, the painter gives form and 
coloring to the images of living beauty that float before his mental 
vision, and the child of music transmits in song those breathings of 
harmony to which the chords of his spirit are ever vibrating. When 
the mind is conversant with these lofty pleasures, the heart is 
rendered susceptible of deeper emotion. It will more readily be 
softened by pity, penetrated by gratitude, melted by penitence, or 
thrilled by joy. It will become purified in its desires, and scorning 
to seek gratification in objects that are sensual and grovelling, will 
aspire to the excellent, the noble, and the true. We would affirm 
that a refined taste will produce these effects upon human affections, 
only as an instrument, guided by one grand principle, that of 
supreme love to God. Had it been able alone to accomplish them, 
how many noble minds had been saved to the cause of religion and 
of virtue. 

A cultivated taste likewise imparts clearer views of the character 
of God. We refer not to His moral perfections but to His natural 
attributes, as power, wisdom, and creative skill. These are developed 
in every work of His hand. They who best appreciate and most 
delight in these works, will have the most exalted conceptions of the 
Great Artificer. We mean to say that this is the legitimate effect 
of their just appreciation, yet that it does not always follow, the 
melancholy examples of Shelley, Byron, and others of kindred 
character, painfully testify. But the exercise of a refined taste in 
the Christian will raise higher and higher his conceptions of God, 
and inspire him daily with new devotion. 

Such are the personal advantages of a cultivated taste, extending 
our knowledge of God, expanding the heart, exalting the intellect, 



TEUE ESTIMATE OF TIME. 21 

and multiplying sources of enjoyment. But they terminate not 
here. If individual improvement and gratification were the ultimate 
end of a refined taste, then would we cease to urge its attainment 
upon woman. For so sacred are her relations, so wide and powerful 
her influence in the social compact, and so great her dependence 
thereon for happiness, that her great aim should ever be to render 
her talents and acquirements subservient to the good of others. In 
determining the real value of any attainment, therefore, she should 
consider not only its direct effects upon herself, but the influence it 
will enable her to exert over those with whom she may be most 
sacredly associated. In the case before us, we would unhesitatingly 
affirm, that the individual benefits of a cultivated taste are surpassed 
by its relative advantages, for not only will it expand and gladden 
woman's spirit, but greatly enhance her attractiveness, influence, 
and usefulness in every relation of domestic and social life. 



TRUE ESTIMATE OF TIME. 



T L. L. H. 



"Years rush by us like the wind; we see not whence the eddy 
comes, or whitherward it is tending ; and we seem ourselves to wit- 
ness their flight without a sense that we are changed ; and yet, 
time is beguiling us of our strength, as the winds rob the woods of 
their foliage." 

There is no propensity of the human mind more surprising, and 
certainly none more alarming than that of indifference towards the 
flight of time. It is to the mind like a lethargic disease to the body 
— insinuating, deceptive, fatal ; and while the one can be conquered 
only by the most stimulating medicines, the other yields only to the 
most arousing and undeniable facts. There are days in the life 
of every person, such as our birth-day, or the anniversary of some 
solemn event in our personal history, which are made effectual monitors 
because they strike home to the heart with the energy of individual 
interest. But, in our ordinary journeyings towards the grave, we 
feel not the motion that carries us forward, nor cast a look towards 



22 TRUE ESTIMATE OF TIME. 

the goal to which we hasten. Like some deluded passenger in a 
rapid car, arranging bed and board, books and work to make his 
abode in the narrow moving vehicle — when lo ! his journey is at an 
end, and he is summoned to depart. So we, forever gliding on, 
forget that we are passengers — forget our place of destination, and 
prepare to dwell in the transitory scene circumscribed by sense. 

There surely will come a day which will close our last year on 
earth, and there Avill be left for us only months and days and hours 
to live. We cannot know that day to mark it. This may be the 
one, or to-morrow may ; and, viewing the subject in this light every 
day may be considered as the probable close of our last year — yet, 
such is the infatuation which possesses our minds, that whenever a 
'perhaps is admitted the admonition loses its effect. 

The knell of a departing year is a voice of no doubtful tone. 
The certainty that that portion of time which was numbered 1855, 
has now irrevocably gone — gone — with the years which have swept 
over countless generations since the world began is a fact which the 
mind cannot reach. We pause — 

" Our hopes and fears 
Start up alarmed, and o'er life's narrow verge 
Look down on what ? A fathomless abyss — 
A dread eternity !" 

We shudder to think of our apathy and exclaim — What am I ! 
Where am I ! and whither am I hastening ! The past I can never 
recall. The present mocks my attempts to retain it. The future 
floats before me in dark impenetrable obscurity. I feel myself 
pressing onward, and still onward with a velocity which seems to 
quicken as I advance. Eternity, vast and awful, rolls its broad 
waves just before me. I must break the charm which binds me to 
earth. I must give myself no rest until I feel that I am prepared 
for that untried state into which I shall most surely soon be 
ushered. 

Yet, unaccountable as it is even to ourselves, if such thoughts are 
forced upon our minds, and we suffer ourselves thus to soliloquize 
— the next moment we struggle to banish them, and willingly forget 
that we are mortal, and is not this infatuation ? Is it not insanity 
itself ? In those thoughts true wisdom was beginning to dawn upon 
our minds. Those were favored moments of our lives, for then we 
were enabled to regard time in some measure as God regards it 



COME TO JESUS. 23 

" A thousand years in Thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past, 
and as a watch in the night." We therefore conclude that the glance 
we take of time as we look back over the closing year, or over that 
portion of our lives already spent, is far the most rational and just 
view we have ever seen taken of it. True it looks like a vision 
of the night, or a tale that is told, but thus should future time look 
if a thousand years are as yesterday in thy sight when it is past. 

While we cry unto God, " So teach us to number our days that 
we may apply our hearts unto wisdom," let us estimate our future 
years by the just, and holy standard — a thousand years as 
yesterday. 



COME TO JESUS. 



My Dear Children : — Although I have never seen your bright 
little faces, yet I would address a few words to you, as one who loves 
you all, and wishes to make you happy. I would tell you of a dear 
Friend you all have, who has done more for you, and loved you with 
a stronger love than even your own dear Father and Mother. The 
name of this dear Friend is Jesus Christ. His hands and feet have 
been nailed to the cross, and then he has been lifted up, to hang and 
bleed and die, that he might make you happy when you die. how 
your young heart should melt, when you think of a love so great for 
you! 

I became acquainted with this precious Saviour when I was but 
ten years old. I thought of his love for me — his bleeding, dying 
agories, and then of my naughty wicked heart. I wept to think 
how often I had offended him, and caused his kind heart to bleed on 
account of my sinful life. My heart was broken. I wept bitterly. 
I was pained to think of his kindness to me, and then to see that I 
had given him nothing but wicked thoughts and actions in return. 
I went away alone and fell upon my knees, and with my face bathed 
in tears I told him how sorry I was that I had been so sinful, and so 
ungrateful. I asked him to forgive my sins and make me his own 
dear child. I asked him to help me to love him, and keep me from 
sinning against him any more. I thought of him stretched on the 



24 A PRATER FOR LITTLE CHILDREN. 



cross bleeding and dying for me. how I cried to that dear Jesus 
to wash away those cruel sins that nailed him there ; and while I 
prayed, I thought I could see him seated in heaven, with his head 
shining like the sun, all robed in white and in glory : and then he 
seemed to smile as he looked down on me a little child. how I 
wept and loved and prayed. I felt so sure my sins were all forgiven. 
His flowing blood had washed them all away, and when I joined the 
family group again, I could not cease my singing precious Jesus, 
precious Saviour, I will love thee evermore. I then wished to die? 
that I might live with him in heaven ; and yet I was willing to live, 
if it was his will, to try to teach others to love him as dearly as 1 
loved him. 

And now my dear children do you not wish to love this kind and 
loving Jesus ? He once lived here on the earth and then he took 
little children in his arms and blessed them, and said " Suffer little 
children to come unto me and forbid them not, for of such is the 
kingdom of heaven." He bids you come. be persuaded by one 
who loves your souls, to come to this merciful Redeemer ; come now 
and ask him to bless you ; to give you a new and a pure heart, and 
to make you his own dear children. He has said, " They that seek 
me early shall find me," and if you seek and find, and learn to love 
this friend of sinners, he will never leave nor forsake you. Should 
your dear Parents be taken from you, and the cold grave hide them 
from your sight, then the Lord will care for you and protect you 
while you live, and when you die, will take you to himself, to sing 
his praise, and see his face forever and forever. 

Permit me now to wish you all a happy New Year, and may it be 
made doubly so, by your yielding your young hearts offerings at 
the feet of Jesus, — is the sincere prayer of your friend 

C. H. P. 



A PRAYER FOR LITTLE CHILDREN. 

Lord, teach a little child to pray 
And love thee more and more : 

And take this naughty heart away, 
And a pure heart restore. 



ALICE HARTWELL. 25 



Send thy good Spirit from on high, 
To guide and comfort me ; 

And let bright angels, when I die 
Bear me to heaven and Thee ! 



ALICE HARTWELL. 

A CHAPTEE FROM LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF A WESTERN PARISH. 

MRS. L. H. STONE. 

Alice knew very little of the practical application of the adage, 
" You must cut your coat according to your cloth." Of the general 
effect or air of good housekeeping, there was no better judge than 
Mrs. Hartwell. But of the little items that go to produce this effect, 
of their wearisome arrangement, she knew very little. She did not 
know that the title of a good housekeeper, above all other honors, is 
earned " by the sweat of the brow." How could she know ? She 
had never been behind the scenes. She could not say with Chester- 
field, " I have smelt the tallow candles, I have seen the greasy pul- 
leys and the dirty ropes, that move this gaudy machinery." 

Her father had sent on an ample supply of furniture for a larger 
house than the cottage ; but, alas ! how many of the conveniences 
of her old home were wanting. How many little kitchen comforts, 
such as could not be obtained in Newburg, had been forgotten in her 
outfit. How hard she found it to do without many things of which 
her mother had said to her, " these will not be worth the charge for 
transportation ; you can get them there." But she found that many 
of the mechanics in Newburg were men who had " taken up the 
trade;" and they did not know even the name of the article she 
wanted, much less how to make it to her order. And soon there 
began to be a more serious objection to her getting them, than the 
ignorance of the mechanics. She suddenly found herself at the 
bottom of her purse. 

" Strange," says one, " that trifles should leave traces of sadness 
or discom-agement upon one's face." Not strange at all. Life itself 



26 ALICE HARTWELL. 



is made of trifles ; and though it take ten thousand little pencillings 
to complete the picture, yet each mark is there, and makes the 
\N-hole darker or lighter. Suppose you should take away shade after 
shade, here a touch, and there, a dark line ; what would be left at 
last ? Did you ever think of it ? If we did think, how many times 
should we pause, or sketch with trembling hand and fearful heart. 
But we cannot take them away. Indelible are they, these little 
lines, though invisible ; and at length we shall see them all and be 
compelled like Pilate to say, "what I have written, I have written." 
This delicate tracery, made upon our characters, each day, in the 
form of duties performed, difficulties met, and overcome; passions 
indulged, and prejudices fostered, is like those sheets of paper, 
apparently blank, but which, when brought before the fire, we dis- 
cover to be filled with words, the symbols of thoughts, ideas and 
opinions. So, too, life has trials for some of us, which will make 
all these little invisible lines, gleaming transparencies, which we may 
look upon with grief unutterable, or read with calm and thankful 

joy. 

Thus it was with Alice. Her mother had been drawing lines upon 
her character which were now to be brought out by trial, that others 
might see, if not she herself, what she had written. For a quarter 
of a century, she had been tracing the softest lines of duty ; the 
most delicate shadings of self-denial. Weariness, toil, hardship, 
and trial, were words of which she knew well the meaning herself, 
and in knowing which, she had grown strong ; strong for herself, but 
not for her child. From the manner in which she had trained her, 
one might well conclude, that she expected she was to be forever 
exempted from gaining any knowledge of such terms, except as mere 
abstract ideas. Mrs. Gordon had always thought for her daughter, 
planned for her ; tried every rough path herself, and removed all 
possible roughnesses, before permitting her daughter to walk in it. 
All the rough and jagged points of an acclivity were smoothed, by 
her most tender maternal care, before Alice had been encouraged to 
climb. If she had ever returned weary from a long walk, a sense 
of her own weariness had been greatly increased, by her mother's 
solicitude about it. If she had ever complained of feeling languid 
or weak, her mother's extreme anxiety about her, had made her feel 
that of course it was impossible that she ever could be strong. Her 
sighs had all brjen noted, and her tears treasured in sacred remem- 



ALICE HARTWELL. 27 



brance, and very special care taken that she should never have occa- 
sion for them again. Her wants had been anticipated by her mother, 
and gratified by her father, before she scarcely became aware of 
them herself. 

Under such influences Alice had grown up; very amiable, cer- 
tainly ; but a mental and physical parasite of her mother ; as unfit to 
bear up alone, amidst the common storms of life, as would be a frai/ 
pleasure boat, to sustain the burdens, and meet the storms of a man 
of war. 

Alas ! how many such are mothers. Christian mothers too, sending 
out into the world. And yet they know, and will frankly acknowl- 
edge if you ask them, that they owe their own strength, their power 
of endurance, more to the crosses, the trials, and the storms of life, 
than to those intervals of soft sunshine which they have enjoyed. It 
was not such soft sheltering influences, as Mrs. Gordon had always 
thrown around her daughter, that developed the strength and ener- 
■gies of those early women of our country, to whom we owe so 'uuch. 
No. Many of them were early inured to toil and hardship ; accus- 
tomed to discomforts and deprivations of every kind. And yet, in 
the midst of it all, they grew strong in every virtue ; and left their 
impress upon their country and their age — an impress which it ought 
to shame us to efiace by the sickly sentimentality of the present day. 

But to our story. What was Alice Hartwell to do, when she 
found herself at the bottom of her purse, and yet not nearly all her 
wants supplied ? Should she apply to her father ? To this Mr. 
Hartwell would not consent ; for he remembered how timidly the 
poor student asked consent to transfer that cherished green house 
plant into a soil less impregnated with gold dust , and less overshad- 
owed with family honors than the one where it had grown. He 
remembered just how good deacon Gordon hem'd and hesitated and 
demanded time for consideration, and how reluctantly at length con- 
sent was given. For, given it must be, for a deacon, though he was 
rich, would not refuse his daughter to a minister just because he was 
poor. He recollected some proud resolutions made at that time 
never to ask the rich deacon for a cent. He would give up preach- 
ing first and earn a living by talents, which he knew he possessed. 

" An unholy resolution," do you say, for a minister to make. Par- 
don him. It was made when in love — a state into which if quite 



28 ALICE HARTWELL. 



young men or quite old widowers fall, they are hardly held account^ 
able. 

He had some fresher recollections of expressions indicating a 
mother's fears lest the poor minister might not be able to provide 
things altogether comfortable for a most delicately reared daughter. 
And with these recollections was associated the remembrance of 
some most tender resolutions, to be more to Alice than a rich father 
and a tender mother both could be. As tenderness and pride are 
feelings somewhat at variance, it is not strange if they produced 
something of a conflict in Mr. Hartwell's mind, not quite favorable 
to study and sermon writing ; and if, under influences almost un- 
known to himself, he became wonderfully discouraged about this 
time, and came before his people for several Sabbaths with head 
bowed down somewhat like a bulrush. It will not seem strange to 
my Western readers either, if Alice did not at all suspect the cause 
of his depression ; but attributed it to the debilitating influence of 
the climate ; and considered these symptoms as sure precursors of 
the ague, against which she sought to fortify him by pitchers of 
boneset tea, bottles of cholagogue, and powders of quinine. But 
she may throw them all away. One real merry, ringing laugh, 
amidst the jingle of griddles, skillets and kettles, in that little dark 
kitchen — one that shall reach even to the study in the wing — will do 
more to fortify the minister, against attacks of the ague, than the 
united skill of allopathists, homoeopathists, Thomsonians, and clair- 
voyants together. 

Suppose we take a peep into Mrs. Hartwell's kitchen, for there 
are rumors afloat that from there the vapor rises to form the cloud 
which enwraps the minister's dwelling. At first glance, I see 
nothing very peculiar to distinguish it from any kitchen, cer- 
tainly, any Western kitchen. It is low, to be sure, and rather 
dark ; but just now the sun is shining in very pleasantly at 
the East window, and the warmth of the kitchen stove is so wel- 
come this chilly morning, that I should never dream of this being 
the atmosphere of clouds. 

The presiding genius here is one who presides only nights and 
mornings, and flits about a little while at noon-day, in the form of 
a certain Samantha Barton, a country girl, who wishes to enjoy for 
a few months the advantages of a village school, and has consented 



ALICE HARTWELL. 2d 



to work nights and mornings, and wash Saturdays, as a compensa- 
tion for her board. 

This is rather a cloudy consideration, certainly ; for one can easily 
see that in her absence, some one must preside a great part of the 
time ; and to one brought up as Mrs. Hartwell has been, so much 
kitchen work must bo rather tiresome. But there is no alterna- 
tive. The country ha3 been scoured for " help," and it is not 
to be found; and this is the only apology for it, that inqui- 
ries, and directions and recommendations have brought to light 
— to the light of Mrs. Hartwell's kitchen, I mean. And just 
now she is absent, more necessarily engaged I dare say, learn- 
ing lessons in orthography, than she could be, in cookery. 

At this time Mrs. Hartwell is acting as her substitute. It is a 
new position to her — one entirely unexpected — upon which neither 
she nor her mother had ever calculated, and for which, of course, 
they have neither of them ever made any preparation. The clock 
is just striking eleven, and twelve is the usual dinner hour in 
Newburg. Mrs. Hartwell has adopted the custom, for the con- 
venience of having Samantha's assistance at that time, more than 
for the sake of conforming to the Newburg customs; for she 
is strong in the belief, that in but very few particulars, it would 
be best to conform to Western ways. A piece of beef has just been 
put into the stove oven, and Mrs. Hartwell is trying to make a hotter 
fire. She looks anxious and hurried, for she has just thought that 
they had decided to dine at twelve, and from her cook book she has 
learned that such a piece of beef as that will require two hours, at 
least, to roast. But her fire obstinately refuses to burn. I am 
not surprised at this ; for in selecting her wood, from the box 
filled with oak and hickory, I see she has had no reference to 
the kind. She knows perfectly well the class and order to which 
each belongs. She would tell you in a moment, whether their 
leaves were digitate, lyrate, or pinnatifid — the oak leaf pattern is 
her favorite for needle-books — but about the burning qualities of 
either she has never concerned herself. For who would have thought, 
when she was studying botany, that to learn this could ever have 
been of any manner of use to her ? 

I do not know that this would ever have been presented to any 
teacher's mind, as a lesson particularly necessary to be taught ; but 
I imagine that if an occasional hour devoted to embroidery and shell 



30 ALICE HARTWELL. 



work had been spent in her mother's kitchen, she would have learned 
this, and many other things, which would now prove highly con- 
ducive to her comfort. 

But the dinner : that is doing finely now, for Samantha has re- 
turned, and "fixed" the fire with a vengeance. She understands the 
virtues of hickory wood, and they are beginning to be visible to Mrs. 
Hartwell, in the red heat of the stove ; but for all that, she is not 
convinced that it is not a poor stove — that it has any draft. Of 
course it could not be expected to have any ; it was cast out West. 

It is now so late that it will require the active efibrts of both to 
get dinner on the table before Samantha's school bell will ring again ; 
and Mrs. Hartwell has got out her clothes basket, and over her tea- 
kettle, designing to make a little starch for Mr. Hartwell's shirts, 
by the dinner fire. She had often heard her mother give directions 
to do as many things as possible by one fire, to save fuel ; and so 
perfectly is her mother's economy revered, that it would be difficult 
to convince her that she would not be entitled to just the same credit 
for practising it, in the article of fuel, here, where wood is one dollar 
a cord, as in Woodstock, where it was seven. 

It is amusing to observe the changing expression of Samantha's 
face as she peels her potatoes, and at the same time watches Mrs. 
Hartwell's awkward movements in making the starch. How anxious 
she looks, as she tries to mash every little, undissolved particle of 
the starch. And well she may look anxious ; for she has just put in 
twice too much cold water ; two spoonfuls would have served her pur- 
pose much better than the half-pint that she has used. But Phebe 
had always made the starch, when she had done up her muslins at 
home, and she did not know just how she did make starch. 

How doubtfully now she looks at the tea-kettle to see if it boils , 
she has not had experience enough to judge by the steam that pours 
from the spout, and in attempting to lift the lid, she scalds her hand 
by the steam. But she is convinced that the water boils, and with 
the basin of starch in one hand, and the tea-kettle in the other, she 
is turning round to find a place to set tlie basin, while she pours in 
the water. She might have set it on the stove, but every place there 
is taken up — one with a tin cover which I just saw her place there, 
and which is now melting. She might set it on the table, there is 
room enough, but it is too dark there to see when she gets just water 
enough (for all that it is in just the place where Phebe's was, and 



ALICE HAETWELL. 31 



must therefore be in just the right place.) She looks round, with 
troubled face and smarting hand, and finally sets her basin on the 
floor, at the same time blacking her drab merino dress with the 
kettle and bespattering her black silk apron with the starch. She 
pours in the boiling water ; but it does not thicken, but still retains 
its milky whiteness. "It is miserable starch — she knows it is !" 

Samantha sees what is the matter, and a malicious smile gathers 
in the corners of her mouth, and twinkles in her eye. In a moment 
the smile changes to an expression something like contempt. 

In the meanwhile, time has not waited for the dinner, and the 
clock strikes one, just as the study door opens. Mr. Hartwell looks 
more cheerful than usual, but the smile on his face instantly van- 
ishes, when he sees the wearied, kitchen flush on his wife's. 

How many pictures of happiness did the poor student once form, 
of seeing Alice at the head of his own table. But he will not 
realize those dreams to-day. No, for the beef is burned to a coal, 
on the outside, and raw on the inside. Yet this does not trouble 
him half so much as his wife's red, tried looking face, and the tears 
that are standing in her eyes. She cannot conceal the pain of 
her hand, for she never concealed a pain from her mother, half 
a minute in her life. In a moment, Mr. Hartwell detects her 
blowing and shaking her hand, and profi"ers the tender inquiry : 
"Alice, dear, what is the matter with your hand?" It is not 
the words, so much as the tone of tenderness with which they 
are spoken, that touches Alice; and she bursts into tears and 
gives the explanation of her misfortune and its cause, in sentences 
interrupted by sobs ; dwelling with peculiar pathos upon the igno- 
rance and impudence of Western girls ; and at the same time most 
amiably and touchingly alludes to ever faithful Phebe's readiness to 
serve her. 

Mine is not the pen to describe the scene which followed. Perhaps 
nature has been at fault, and has not endowed me with sensibilities 
sufficiently exquisite to appreciate its points of beauty ; or, from 
having been so long accustomed to tread the rougher paths of life, 
I may have become indurated to such tender sorrow and therefore 
cannot find in a scene like this any thing, either to please or move 
me. 

Suffice it to say, that Mr. Hartwell saw that there was wrong 
somewhere ; and being bound to believe that it could not be in Alice, 



32 THIS HAND NEVER STRUCK ME. 

he laid it indefinitely upon the poor, already overburdened West, 
5omewhere. And you may be sure, that though the starch was not 
used to stiffen his shirts, it was by no means lost, in its effects upon 
his feelings ; for he bore himself very stiffly, for several days, towards 
this poor longitudinal division of our great country. Ah ! the starch 
was there — building up more than a pasteboard wall between the 
young minister and his new people. 

An occasional hour spent in the performance of common, domestic 
duties under the instruction which her mother was so well qualified 
to give, would have saved Mrs. Hartwell all that she suffered, that 
day. They would have made of those morning, kitchen cares, easy 
and pleasant duties — such as would neither have clouded her brow 
nor ruffled her temper. They would scarcely have interrupted re- 
flection or hindered intellectual or religious improvement. And 
would they have made her less lady-like ? Would they have de- 
tracted, in the least, from a single qualification conferring true wo- 
manly grace and dignity ? 

'• Life's cares are comforts, such by Heaven designed ; 
They that have none, must make them or be wretched.'' 



THIS HAND NEVER STRUCK ME. 

We recently heard the following most touching incident : — 
A little boy had died. His body was laid out in a darkened, 
retired room, waiting to be laid in the lone, cold grave. His afflicted 
mother and bereaved little sister went in to look at the face of the 
precious sleeper, for his face was beautiful, even in death. As they 
stood gazing upon the form of one so cherished and beloved, the 
little girl asked to take his hand. The mother did not think it best, 
but her child repeated the request, and seemed very anxious about it ; 
she took the cold, bloodless hand of her sleeping boy and placed it 
in the hand of his weeping sister. The dear child looked at it a 
moment, caressed it fondly, and then looked up to her mother, 
through the tears of affection and love, and said, "-Mother, this little 
hand never struck me /" 



DO THEY MISS ME. 



DO THEY MISS ME? 

Do they miss me at home ? do they miss me ? 

'Twould be an assurance most dear, 
To know at this moment some loved ona 

Was saying, " I wish he was here I" 
To feel that the group at the fireside 

Were thinking of me as I roam ! 
Oh yes ! 'twould be joy beyond measure, 

To know that they missed me at home. 

When twilight approaches — the season 

That ever was sacred to song — 
Does some one repeat my name over, 

And sigh that I tarry so long ? 
And is there a chord in the music, 

That's missed when my voice is away ? 
And a chord in each glad heart that maketh 

Regret at my wearisome stay ? 

Do they place me a chair at the table, 

When evening's home pleasures are nigh ! 
And lamps are lit up in the parlor, 

And stars in the calm azure sky ? 
And when the " Good Nights" are repeated, 

And each lays them calmly to sleep. 
Do they think of the absent, and waft me 

A whispered " Good Night" o'er the deep? 

Do they miss me at home ? do they miss me 

At morning, at noon, or at night. 
And lingers one gloomy shade round them, 

That only my presence can light ? 
Are joys less invitingly welcomed, 

Are pleasures less hailed than before, 
Because one is missed from the circle ? 

Because I am with them no more ? 

Oh yes ! they do miss me ! kind voices 

Are calling me back as I roam. 
And eyes are grown weary with weeping, 

And watch but to welcome me home. 
Kind friends, ye shall wait me no longer, 

I'll hurry me back from the seas ; 
I'or how can I tarry when folloAved 

By watchings and prayers sucli as thetie ? 



34 REMARKS TO CHRISTIAN MOTHERS IN AMERICA. 



REMARKS TO CHRISTIAN MOTHERS IN AMERICA. 



T MRS. ELLEN H, B. MASON 



The subject of missionaries parting with their children, though it 
has been long agitated, seems to be still as unsettled, as when the 
first loved missionary child touched the shores of America. A few 
years ago a sister wrote back from her native land : " The greater 
part of those I have met, keep their opinions on this subject to them- 
selves ; but show plainly enough by their vacant looks, that they are 
incapable of sympathizing with a mother in this her deepest afflic- 
tion. Others express themselves freely, and declare it is not only 
unnatural, but unscriptural ; that the Bible instructs parents to 
provide for, — that is, take care of their own children before others ; 
and if missionaries cannot do this, and discharge their duties to the 
heathen besides, it is clearly their duty not to have families, or not 
to go to the heathen." 

A New England clergyman's wife, in a letter to a missionary, 
advanced the same idea, which has been, and probably still is the 
feeling of thousands. Says the writer, who is a warm friend of 
missions, " Leaving children does not seem to me quite right ; 
for we say mission families should go out as examples to the heathen 
yet they see us willing to rend the most tender ties for education. 
I greatly prefer a private education. Children are saved from so 
much evil example. I Avas glad to hear that Mrs. Judson^ had a 
governess ; and I do not see why you cannot have, and so 
keep your children with you." 

Such separations must seem to friends at home almost unendura- 
ble, and so they are ; and among all who leave their homes for for- 
eign climes I know of none who are called quite to such a trial as the 
missbnary ; for though among the military, separations are con- 
stantly transpiring between parents and children, yet officers and 

riarah B. Judson. 



KEMARKS TO CHRISTIAN MOTHERS IN AMERICA. 35 



their wives expect in a few years to go home, and remain with their 
children. Moreover, they have the means of locating them almost 
as they please, so that there seems to be little in common between 
the two classes. 

" But even if such life -long trials may be borne, they are not," 
say our friends, " according to Bible order." The passage, however, 
so much quoted to prove the missionary's course unscriptural, is the 
very one I once heard quoted by a member of a large church — and the 
richest member too — but who had never paid a dollar for missions in 
all his life. According to his exposition it was not duty to go to the 
heathen at all, because there was so much to be done at home ; and 
the missionary could not possibly labor for his own country, and for 
a foreign people at the same time. Without trespassing upon the 
theologian's province, one can scarcely see why this Dives com- 
mentator, was not as profound a reasoner, as those who expound for 
the missionary. 

It is because the missionary parent desires to provide for his own 
that he sends them away. Did he not regard the injunction of the 
apostle, and had he really no true affection, he would assuredly keep 
them with him ; for the mother especially needs the sympathetic 
attentions of children in a barbarous land. The missionary tries 
to provide for his children as well as he can with what is committed 
to his trust ; that is, gives them food and raiment, and a Christian 
education. He endeavors to fling around them such influences as will 
eliminate strength, self-dependence, and benevolence of soul ; so that 
when thrown entirely upon their own resources as they are at the 
critical age of sixteen, they may be able to do something for them- 
selves, and to benefit others. This is all he can provide. Houses 
and lands he has none ; flocks and herds he has none ; and of gold 
and silver he has about as much as a Californian would have after 
washing a dozen years a bed of pyrites, scarcely enough when sick- 
ness calls him home to pay his children's passage. 

But it is urged we might educate them here — we might employ 
governesses. Where shall we find them ? People sometimes seem 
to forget the vast difierence between the habits and manners of 
nations. Certainly there are no governesses among the heathen ; 
there are none among the East Indians, of this coast at least ; for 
nearly all of this class who receive any education receive it from 
the misbionary, or from the CIiul cli of England's Orphanage, which 



db REMARKS TO CHRISTIAN MOTHERS IN AMERICA. 

has but recently been established. If we look among the European 
regiments that come and go among us, we might as well seek a 
governess on the emigrant vessels coming into New-York. If we look 
among the citizens, what there? Why, Christian women are as 
scarce as in San-Francisco ; and had one half the men wives even, 
they would have other employment than becoming governesses. If one 
turns to the officers and civilians, those who have any children are 
in as much trouble as the missionary: "Now, look there !" said the 
lady of an English surgeon one day, holding out a note she had just 
received from her daughter's teacher, " I pay that fellow ten rupees 
the month just to teach my little girl reading, spelling, and writing, 
one hour the day, and yet he is half the time absent." 

Occasionally a young lady comes out in the capacity of a govern 
ess, but such persons are very rare on this coast. The one who 
consented to become governess to Mrs. Judson's children did so 
because of peculiar trials occasioned by her uniting with the mission 
church. 

But supposing worthy persons to be found, then just picture a 
missionary family. Four or five months of the year the father 
labors in the jungles. If he is gone three or four weeks with no 
one to care for him but an ignorant native, he usually returns sick, 
having accomplished only a portion of the work that he might have 
done had his wife been with him ; for heathen women will not listen 
to a man as they will to one of their own sex ; nor can he so well 
adapt himself to their circumstances, or to the capacities of their chil- 
dren. To ensure the greatest amount of good, the wife must accom- 
pany her husband, or at least make annual visits to the principal 
out-stations ; establish maternal meetings ; teach the villagers 
order and neatness ; and persuade her pagan sisters that they have 
come to do them good. The women will then come to them in town, 
and their attendance may be secured in a boarding school. Here 
are some reasons for the necessity of sending others than celibates 
to the heathen. Other reasons, such as sickness, loneliness, despon- 
dency, &c., it would be superfluous to nan.e, as this is not a senti- 
mental age. Yet it may not be amiss to add the opinion of a 
gentleman^ especially that of one who has examined every phase of 
mission life on heathen grounds. Said Doctor Malcom : " A wife is 
just as necessary to the missionary" us the candlestick is to the 



DEAL GENTLY WITH THE TIMID CHILD. 37 



candle— to hold it up, and keep it from falling down, or melting 
away." 

But while the wife and mother is aiding her husband in the jun- 
gles what is to become of the governess ? Will she go with them 
from hamlet to hamlet, from mountain to mountain, and live as the 
parents do, as I have known them, for three weeks together without 
milk, butter, cheese, vegetables or pastry ? By no means. Will she 
remain in town, and take the whole charge of a family of children, 
and keep house, in addition ? that too, isolated from all congenial 
society ? Were she willing to be a missionary she might do this, 
otherwise she would not, even should the mother dare leave her 
family thus exposed to the influences of heathen domestics. All 
mission families are not so situated, it is true, and there are doubt- 
Jess situations where it may be practicable, and advisable to employ 
governesses; but it must be long before such situations become 
common in Eastern Asia. 



DEAL GENTLY WITH THE TIMID CHILD. 

After tea, Mrs. Larford continued: — '"Supposing this to be all 
right, the mother will feel herself from the first the depository of 
its confidence, — a confidence as sacred as any other, though tacit, 
and about matters which may appear to all but itself and her, infi- 
nitely small. Entering by sympathy into its fears, she will incessantly 
charm them away, till the child becomes open to reason, and even 
afterwards, for the most terrible fears are those which have nothing 
10 do with reason; the mother will bring it acquainted with every 
object in the room or house, letting it handle in merry play every 
thing which could look mysterious to its fearful eyes, and rendering 
It familiar with every household sound.' 

" This is ath 'ight worth remembering," said Mrs. Larford, laying 
down her book for a moment, "and it reminds me of a circumstance 
my nurse once told me, relating to a child of hers. The little girl 
went to visit an aunt, when about ten years of age; and after she 
was in bed one night, quite alone, she heard the clock give warning 
of being about to strike. Not having had a clock in her cottage 
home, and being consequently unaccustomed to the sound, she became 



38 DEAL GENTLY WITH THE TIMID CHILD. 



dreadfully alarmed, and when unable to bear the terror of being 
alone any longer, she rushed to the stands in the dark, fell, and broke 
her leg. It is of importance, therefore, to make children acquainted 
with the varied sounds they may hear after they are retired for the 
night. But to proceed: — 

"'Some of my worst fears in infancy were from lights and 
shadows. The lamp-lighter's torch on a winter's afternoon, as he 
ran along the street, used to cast a gleam, and the shadows of the 
window frames on the ceiling, and my blood ran cold at the sight 
every day, even though I was on my father's knee, or on the rug 
in the middle of the circle round the fire. Nothing but compulsion 
could make me enter our drawing-room before breakfast on a summer 
morning ; and if carried there by the maid, I hid my face in a chair, 
that I might not see what was dancing on the wall. If the suru 
shone, as it did at that time of day, on the glass-lustres on the 
mantel-piece, fragments of gay color were cast on the wall, and as 
they danced when the glass drops were shaken, I thought they were 
alive — a sort of imps ! But as I never told anybody what I felt, 
these fears could not be met or charmed away ; and I grew up to an 
age that I will not mention, before I could look steadfastly at pris- 
matic colors dancing on the wall. Suffice that it was long after I 
had read enough of optics to have taught my child how such colors 
came there. 

" 'Many an infant is terrified at the shadow of a perforated night- 
lamp, with its round spaces of light. Many a child lives in perpe- 
tual terror of the eyes of portraits on the walls, or some grotesque 
shape in the pattern of the paper-hangings. Sometimes the terror 
is of the clack of the distant loom, or of the clink from the tinman's, 
or of the rumble of carts under a gateway, or of the creak of a 
water-wheel, or of the gush of a mill-race. Every thing is or may 
be terrifying to a timid infant; and it is, therefore, a mother's 
charge to familiarize it gently and playfully with every thing that 
it can possibly notice, making sport with all sights, and inciting it 
to imitation of all sounds, from the drone of the pretty bee, to the 
awful cry of the old clothes' man, — from the twitter of the sparrows 
on the roof, to the toll of the distant church-bell.'" 

We are sorry to break in upon Mrs. Larford's interesting subject, 
but we like papers as short as possible for busy mothers. We shall 
hope to listen again soon. — Motliers Friend. 



MOUNT MOniAil. 



39 




MOUNT MORIAH. 

BY MISS S. S. GURLEY. 

Clouds brood upon that mountain height, 
Where Moslem prayers are said, 

No eye beneath can pierce the night 
Which gathers o'er its head. 

But yet above that fearful gloom 

Thy^ stars are shining still; 
The star that lit the Patriarch's tomb, 

And shone on Calvary's hill. 

0, glorious beams ! they stream afar, 

Their light my spirit fills ! 
And will the bright and Morning Star 

Ne'er shine on Judah's hills 



* The sacrifices of Abraham and the Son of God which are both said to have been offered on this 
mountain 



40 THE CULTURE OF TASTE— ITS PERSONAL ADVANTAGES. 

Yes, Mount Moriah crowned with light 

Again shall rise and shine, 
And Zion from her sacred height 

Shall give the rays divine. 

For lo ! on Patmos drear and lone. 

Bright visions oft were seen : 
The New Jerusalem came down 

To shine on earth again. 



THE CULTURE OP TASTE AN BIPORTANT ELEMENT IN FEMALE EDUCATION. 

ITS PERSONAL ADVANTAGES. 



RICHARD S. 



It has been already observed, that the personal advantages of a 
cultivated taste in woman are exceeded by its relative influences in 
the various spheres of domestic and social life. As a daughter it 
will enable her to perceive the manifold beautiful affections that 
cluster around the filial relation, and to regard her residence in her 
childhood's home, not as a dull, common-place occurrence, but as a 
circumstance, involving sacred associations, and heartfelt delights. 
She will partially discover the shining purity of that silver chord 
with which God bound her to the hearts of her parents, in the day 
when the new words " my daughter" thrilled the soul of her mother, 
and trembled upon the lips of her father with his first paternal kiss. 
She knows that maternal care has paled the cheek and dimmed the 
eye of the one, and that the furrowed brow and silvered hairs of the 
other are tokens of his toil, that she might be reared in delicacy 
and tenderness ; and she feels that all their sacrifices have but 
strengthened and brightened that indissoluble chord of love. Reali- 
zing these things, can she turn away from those whose deepest love 
she possesses, and coldly seek her selfish pleasure in the whirl of 
fashion, the glitter of the ball-room, or the street promenade. Nay, 
for her love of the truly beautiful has taught her, that purer joys 
linger around her parental hearthstone. And not only will a refined 
taste open to her the beauty of this relation, but will supply her 



THE CULTURE OF TASTE — ITS PERSONAL ADVANTAGES. 41 

with ever fresh means of dispensing happiness therein. It will 
extend and render more nicely minute her sphere of observation, 
enabling her to cull flowers of beauty and fragrance from the most 
common scenes and occurrences. It will furnish her mind with 
subjects of interest, and themes of conversation, making her society 
a continual entertainment, and her presence a delight in the family 
circle. The mental pleasure, derived from the agreeableness of the 
object with which she is conversant, will shed over her the graces of 
habitual cheerfulness. This of itself will gladden the hearts of her 
parents. If she, on whose welfare they have bestowed years of toil 
and watchcare, advance into life with a spirit of repining and dis- 
content, then will they sufler the bitter regret that their labors of 
love have been in vain ; but if she be happy in the life they have 
given her; if she rejoice in the priceless boon of existence — then 
they will receive for 

" The day of wo, the watchful night, 
For all their sorrow, all their fears, 
An over payment of delight." 

Her influence likewise as a sister, over the younger daughters of 
her father's household, will have almost the power of law. If, 
shunning the pursuits of gayety and fashion, she be devoted to in- 
tellectual and tastefid avocations, they will infer that the latter are 
more worthy and pleasurable. Her character, ensuring their respect 
and admiration, will become the standard of their own ; and as, by 
virtue of the sympathetic nature of the principles of taste, her ac- 
quirements will naturally flow forth for their instruction and amuse- 
ment, she will gain their warmest love. If she have inspired these 
sentiments in their young hearts, she may guide them as she will. 
With one look she may decide for them the propriety or impropriety 
of any course of conduct, for they will regard her judgment in all 
matters of maidenly dignity, as the last court of appeal. Her 
words of sympathy and encouragement will be their greatest stimulus 
to exertion ; her smile of approbation, their richest reward. She 
may have a brother, young, ardent, and aspiring. Perchance he 
has just entered on the theatre of active life. He is bewildered by 
its novel excitements, and charmed by its fascinations. He is daily 
exposed to temptations, of which the sister, in her sheltered home, 



42 THE CULTURE OF TASTE — ITS PERSONAL ADVANTAGES. 

knows nought, and in that sacred retreat should she weave for him 
a charm which will render him insensible to the syren songs of dis- 
sipation and revelry. See to it, sister, that here you realize the 
power and the responsibility that God has placed in your hands. 
Why has he so beautifully mingled brothers and sisters in the 
domestic relation, if not, that their respective characters so finely 
contrasted, might each reciprocate the influence most needed by the 
other. And be assured, that a cultivated taste, always excepting 
a Christian spirit, will be the most fruitful source of that influence, 
which, on your part, should ever be constant, attractive, and pure. 
Then may you, with that retiring and winning eloquence, so pecu- 
liar to woman, beguile his leisure hours with refined and tasteful 
avocations. Ascertain his peculiar preferences, and while you gra- 
tify those, endeavor to awaken that love of the true and the beau- 
tiful, that reverence for the great and honorable, both in principle 
and action, which may have lain dormant in his bosom. Charm him 
with the melody of song. People his mind with the rare treasures 
of your own, from whatever source they may have been gathered. 
Lead him into Nature's grand temple, and as he catches the inspira- 
tion that fills its vast dome of glory, there shall be established 
between your spirit and his, a sympathy so deep, so pure, that from 
that moment you may guide him with the silken reins of woman's 
power. In the bustle of business, the whirl of excitement, and the 
tumult of passion, your influence will be as an ever present impulse, 
inviting him to the honorable and the true, and urging him to the 
attainment of whatever is lovely and of good report. 

There are also prospective relations in life, for which every young 
lady should be prepared. She may become a wife, and in this rela- 
tion we deem a cultivated taste indispensable to her who would pre- 
serve in ever-green freshness, the romance of early marriage. Our 
maidens have been urged to remember that married life is not one 
gala day of pleasure, that it is a plain matter-of-fact state, involving 
arduous duties, weighty responsibilities, and innumerable cares. 
And this is well. We would have them remember that woman's lot 
IS on them, that they must prepare to bear, each her own part, in 
the troubles, sufi*erings, toils, and thousand nameless perplexities 
incident to the sphere she may hereafter be called to fill. But we 
would also reverse the picture. We would paint for them in 
rainbow tints of promise, the romance and poetry of domestic life ; 



THE CULTURE OF TASTE— ITS PERSONAL ADVANTAGES. 43 

we would reveal the brightness of that golden tissue of sympathies 
with which God has entwined the hands and hearts of wedded love ; 
we would speak of the untold sweetness garnered in those treasured 
words, " my home," with its fireside delights, the unrestrained com- 
munion of loving hearts, its ever-blooming joys that spring from the 
relations of parents and children, we would urge upon woman so to 
develope her tastes and refine her sensibilities, that she may appre- 
ciate these things in all their truthfulnesss and beauty, and for the 
very reason that she will need a counterpoise to the perplexity and 
care with which married life often abounds. The wearisome routine 
of the same duties will be relieved to her, whose perception of the 
truly beautiful, enables her to behold in them only the means for 
the attainment of a high and worthy object. She will overlook the 
petty vexations that so often chafe the temper and cloud the brow, 
because she has mental resources of pleasure, to which she may con- 
tinually resort. She will have a solace, should she be visited by 
misfortune : for the joys of a refined taste will dwell with her in 
lowly cot, as well as in pillared hall ; and though poverty may 
deprive her of access to the works of art, she will but the more 
faithfully read the deep poetry which is written by the finger of God 
on the wide entablature of Nature. 

And as a companion for her husband, a refined taste will be a 
most valuable acquisition ; for in this relation, she will need not only 
a disciplined and well-stored mind, but a discerning tact which shall 
guide her in the use of her intellectual resources. There are few 
men, whether involved in the cares of business, or wearied by the 
mental toils of professional life, who would enjoy as an evening wel- 
come from their wives, either a discussion on matters of philosophy 
and metaphysics, or a statistical account of the various commotions 
and revolutions of the house-keeping department. But the pleasures 
of taste are a delightful medium between these two extremes. The 
wife who can impart these, need not fear of producing weariness 
and satiety on the one hand, nor inattention and disgust on the 
other. She has a fund of entertainment in store, which, while it 
amuses the mind, also soothes the care-worn spirit, and lulls it to 
the repose of peace. Thus will she difluse about her an atmosphere 
of contentment and cheerful delight, which shall make her home 
a shrine of quiet happiness ; whose music of pleasant voices shall 
reach deeper chords of the human spirit than ever vibrated to the 



±4 THE CULTURE OF TASTE — ITS PERSONAL ADVANTAGES. 

tones of harp or organ. Surely it is no light mission, thus to pre- 
serve in its freshness, the purity of youthful affection, for although 
most truly and beautifully has wedded love been called '' the bright- 
beaming passion flower of earth,'' yet it is a plant whose beauty and 
sweetness are equalled only by its delicacy and sensitiveness. It can 
bear neither a rough touch, nor a rude breath. It can thrive only in 
the atmosphere of cheerfulness, where it may reflect the sun-light 
of smiles, and absorb the ever-distilling dews of kindness and cour- 
tesy. To supply these influences is the peculiar lot of woman. 
She can derive them from no foreign source. They must flow 
forth in look, word, and action, from the perennial spring of her own 
heart. 

Once more. A cultivated taste will be of inestimable value to 
the mother. To her is committed the training of young minds, 
which she must indelibly enstamp with the impress of her own. Her 
mental influence over them will be immortal. Its laws are established 
by Him who created the mind, and she has no power, either to alter 
or reverse them. The tone of her voice, the impression of her smile, 
the light of her eye, will each perform its sure ministry on the sus- 
ceptible minds of her little ones, moulding them like herself. God 
has thus placed in her hands an unbounded power which she may 
use for her children's weal or woe. And besides this influence, there 
is implanted within her, a desire for their happiness, which ever 
burns as a vestal fire on the altar of her heart ; a love, which, for its 
constancy, strength, and purity, is comparable to nought on earth. 
As it dawns upon her soul, she lives a new existence. Her life is 
no more her own ; it is merged in that of her child. In its danger, 
she trembles ; in its sorrow, she weeps ; in its joy, she rejoices. 
For its welfare she cheerfully resigns the bloom of her beauty, and 
the dew of her youth. But with all this extent of influence, and 
depth of love, the mother often fails to secure her children's truest 
happiness, because she has not the ability to supply the material re- 
quisite for its attainment. If she live with an eye and ear, insen- 
sible to the beauties and harmonies of this green earth, her children 
will be her living portraiture, so dim in mental vision, and so obtuse 
in heart, that they will see no charms in Nature, nor feel the silent 
eloquence of her teachings. They will advance into life with a mis- 
anthropic spirit, neither receiving nor dispensing happiness. Not so 
with the mother whose sensibilities are ever alive to the lofty and 



THE CULTURE OF TASTE — ITS PEESOXAL ADVANTAGES. 45 

the truthful. From the hour that she first feels the freshly springing 
tide of a mother's love, gushing up from the inner fountains of her 
being, she will rejoice in the thrilling prospect of revealing to an 
immortal spirit, the startling sublimities of its being. She will daily 
seek to unfold that poetic element, which is innate in the mind of 
her child. In the gorgeous drapery of autumn, and stern garniture 
of winter, — in the joyous spring time, and balmy summer, she shall 
open for his spirit a communication with Nature, by which he shall 
learn her ever-varying language. He will rejoice in the brilliancy 
of the early sunbeams, or melt in tenderness beneath the stilly 
moonlight. He will hold converse with the song of birds and the 
fragrance of flowers, till "every such sound shall take a sweet odor 
by the hand, and thus walking hand in hand through the open door 
of the child's heart, shall hold a joyous dance therein." As the 
current of his life widens and deepens, then may the mother reveal 
to him the deep mystery and poetry which enshrines his spiritual 
being, which shall inscribe every fresh leaf from the tablet of his 
heart, with deeper sentiment and softer feeling. When our mothers 
thus truly educate their children, not only arming them against the 
world's fierce temptations, by the panoply of high principle and firm 
resolve, but preparing for them the lighter habiliments of beauty, 
in which, after its conflict, the weary spirit may repose, our country 
shall rejoice in the sons which are " as plants grown up in their 
youth," in the daughters, that are "as corner stones, polished after 
the similitude of a palace." 

If then God has garnished his whole creation with beauty, if he 
has implanted the principle of taste in our natures, and has formed 
the objects about us to gratify that sentiment, so that there is a per- 
fect adaptation of the one to the other, if he has made the benefits 
arising from its due development, a necessary element of our social 
happiness, we may certainly infer, that in cultivating our tastes we 
are so far falfilling the designs of God. 

With this enumeration of the advantages of a refined taste, we 
would make one reservative remark. A cultivated taste is not 
religion. There are those who seem to imagine that there is some- 
thing meritorious in the exercise of the fine sensibilities of their 
nature. They will speak of the delight they feel in viewing a beau- 
tiful landscape, of their meltings of soul under the charms of music, 
of their lofty conceptions while contemplating the stupendous works 



46 THE CULTURE OF TASTE — ITS PERSONAL ADVANTAGES. 

of God, of their deep sympathies in all the relations of social life, 
as if they thought they were thereby offering all that is required 
for an acceptable sacrifice to the Deity. But these are only the 
natural exercises of an intellectual faculty. They have no more 
religious character than have the operations of the memory, or the 
reason. Religion is a matter of the will, a change of the affections, 
not the exercise of any one mental principle. 

But more. A cultivated taste is nought without religion. The 
most refined sensibility, if unbaptized in the love of a crucified Re- 
deemer, will prove a curse, rather than a blessing to its possessor. 
It may gladden the pathway in this brief existence, but there is a 
future world, and who can conceive the misery of the gifted spirit 
in the abode of the lost. With all its vivid conceptions of loveliness, 
it must dwell forever in a world where no ray of beauty ever lingered, 
no note of harmony ever breathed. With all its keen susceptibilities 
to pleasure or pain, it must forever hopelessly mourn over the wreck 
of its noble and immortal being. 

While then, we urge upon the maiden, in the dew and freshness 
of her youth, the attainment of a cultivated taste, we would also 
bid her remember that, to be desirable, it must be sanctified, must be 
consecrated to God. Then, in the exercise of that living spiritual 
communion, which springs from faith in the Divine Redeemer, will 
she be able to say concerning all the glories of this material crea- 
tion, " Lo these are but parts of His ways, how faint the whisper 
we have heard of Him." And thus only may she rejoice in the 
promise of an everlasting inheritance in that better land, whose 
radiant glories 

" Eye hath not seen. 
Ear hath not heard its deep sounds of joy, 
Dreams cannot picture a world so fair, 
Sorrow and death may not enter there, 
Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom, 
Beyond the clouds and beyond the tomb." 



THE STRAWBERRY EXCURSION. 47 



THE STRAWBERRY EXCURSION. 

"Winter and Spring had passed away, and it was now the 
charming month of June. Our young friends George and Harriet, 
and their cousin Adeline, who had come to spend the summer with 
them, were starting early one afternoon to search the fields for 
strawberries. "Come, girls," cried George, "get your baskets 
and let us be off. Come, Spring, you shall go ; we'll have a good 
race over the fields, won't we, Springy ?" Spring jumped up, and 
licked his little master's hand. That was the best way he could 
answer him ; and it was a good way, for George knew it meant, 
I love you, master, and I shall have a good time if I go any where 
with you. In two minutes the little party were tripping across the 
meadows behind the house; but there was another member of the 
family watching their movements, and thinking he should like to 
have a good race too — this was the white rabbit. He looked after 
them an instant, and laying his long ears flat on his head, he 
began to leap away to overtake them. George saw him, and said, 
" 0, Beauty means to come too, and so he shall, for he never went 
a strawberrying in his life." 

"No, no," said Harriet, "he will run away in the woods. 
Mother told me not to take him when I went to walk." 

"I'll venture that," replied her brother. "Don't you think he 
knows who his best friends are ?" 

" Well, he loves to be in the woods, mother said so," returned 
Harriet ; " and perhaps he will find some rabbits out there, and 
then he will forget all about us." 

" No he won't : will you, Beauty ?" said George, stooping to take 
his little favorite, who had just reached them, in his arms. 

The nursery group now hastened on with health and animation 
sparkling in their countenances. George led the way, shouting 
now and then, "Forward — march — keep the step — now single file:" 
and by and by he pointed over to a distant fence, saying, "Yonder 



48 THE STRAWBERRY EXCURSION. 



is the strawberry field — a first-rate one. We shall have some boun- 
cers there, I assure you." 

The little girls laughed aloud, and Adeline said, " I hope I shall 
find.ia bouncer to carry to cousin Eliza." 

" If I find one, I'll carry it to mother," said Harriet. 

" I'll find a dozen," cried George, ^' and carry them all to 
father." 

The berries were as plenty as the wild strawberry is generally 
found in New England, but the little folks were obliged to look 
about slowly and carefully, and keep very busy for two or three 
hours, when they found their little baskets pretty well filled, and 
here and there was one laid in, large and ripe enough to be a 
special present to " Father, mother, and cousin Eliza." 

While the little girls were bending over the vines one of them 
looked up, and said, "Where is George?" "Away yonder," 
exclaimed the other, as they both ran to the fence, where they 
could climb up, and look after him. 

"0, dear, dear!" cried Harriet, "there is Beauty scampering 
away into the woods, and George is running after him as fast as he 
can run." 

" Now he will lose him," said Adeline : " he is almost to the 
thick woods." 

" no," cried Harriet, clasping her hands, and catching her 
breath with fear and anxiety. 

" There ! brother has caught him :" and they began to clap their 
hands, and laugh and shout loud enough for George to hear them. 
The merry boy came bounding back, boasting that " the sly little 
rogue could not outrun him." 

"Well, George," said his sister, "was not mother right, when 
she said the rabbit would love the woods ?" 

But George had a little too much self-complacency to own that 
his mother even was wiser than he, and he answered, " I don't 
know about that : perhaps he only wanted to have a good race." 

L. L. H. 



PLEASURES OF RELIGION. 49 



PLEASURES OF RELIGION. 

BY MISS JEWSBURY. 

Religion, is not in reality, a gloomy, unintelligible thing; a prin- 
ciple, which, when admitted into the human mind, is destructive of 
intellect and happiness. It is the direction of natural energy into a 
wortliy channel ; the devotion of mind to subjects immortal as itself. 
Religion is not a thing of Sabbaths and sermons, creeds, and com- 
mentaries; of separate acts, and distinct observances; it is a life- 
giving, life-pervading spirit, intended to exercise over our motives 
just that guiding, quickening, controlling influence, which the mind 
exercises over the body. True religion is cheerful. Whilst its 
highest joy is derived from the contemplation of God, in his word, 
works, and ways, in his threefold character of Creator, Redeemer, 
and Sanctifier — whilst it feels that he, and he only, has a right, 
because he, and he only is worthy, to be loved supremely — it infringes 
upon no duty which we owe to our fellow-creatures ; upon no plea- 
sure which accords with right reason. True piety is active. A life 
wholly contemplative, is not a Christian life. It is necessary to 
follow a thousand pursuits, it is lawful to indulge a thousand tastes, 
which in themselves have entire and simple reference to this world : — 
but, however unconnected with religion in the act, there is nothing 
which may not, which ought not, to be connected with it by the 
motive. Herein consists one chief comfort of this principle, — it 
affords a new stimulus to exertion — it supplies a sufficient motive. 
Others may actuate us, but eventually they fail both to satisfy the 
judgment, and animate the heart. 

Self-aggrandizement, abstract ideas of duty, desire of self-compla- 
cency, and even desire to please, are not only wrong in their prin • 
ciple, but in their retrospect and reaction really induce sorrow. Self 
is the grand centre in every unrenewed mind ; the sun, around which, 
at a greater or a lesser distance, every feeling revolves. Self, in 
some shape or other, is the root from which every action grows. I 
admit, that a person may, even after religion is received into the 



50 PLEASURES OP RELIGION. 

heart as a regenerating principle, do precisely similar things, in a 
manner precisely similar to what he would have done before. The 
difference will consist in his new motive ; and that motive will be a 
hearty, honest, constant desire to glorify and serve God, and to benefit 
his fellow-creatures for the sake of God ; a perpetual reference to the 
declared will of God, as a standard of duty ; a constant eye to the 
approbation of God, in the place of his former desire of the appro- 
bation of his fellow-men. This may, and generally will have some 
influence even in the present case, but it is no longer the grand 
object of his regard; it is a secondary consideration; if it ensues, 
well and good; if not, as "thou God seest me," was his motive, so 
will it be his consolation. 

If God has endowed us with faculties for serving him, and if it is 
solely by his merciful care that these faculties are preserved to us, is 
it not just that to his service they should be devoted ? And if, in 
order to make his yoke easy, God has so constituted our minds, that 
our happiness is bound up with this first great duty, — if, future con- 
siderations apart, peace even in this life is only to be found in the 
way he has appointed — is it not expedient, as well as just, that we 
should devote ourselves to his service ? But there is one error, of 
so harassing and deterring a nature, that I think it must be a 
common hindrance suggested to young and inquiring minds — it is the 
looking upon religion as a dry, abstract code of laws; a series of 
observances, of requirements, of penances, and self-denials ; a system 
of negations ; a something, that is to induce gloom and imbecility of 
mind; to blight our prospects, wither our joys, and transform the 
garden of life into a "howling wilderness." When once a sincere 
and influential desire to love and serve God has entered into the 
heart, new tastes and new affections, new views of every kind, spring 
up spontaneously : duty becomes choice ; obedience a service of the will 
rather than of the conscience: and the natural language of that 
heart is, "Oh, how I love thy law!" Then, religion is seen in its 
true light, its native lustre; as a renewing principle, introducing 
order into chaos, light into darkness; imparting strength to those 
points of character which before were weak; softening what was 
harsh ; taking away the false glory which invested some old plea- 
sures, but presenting in their stead, new and better ones, and 
bestowing fresh grace and beauty on those which were innocent and 
allowable. I do not think that any person, however high his natural 



PLEASURES OF RELIGION. 



genius and sensibility, can fully feel the glories of nature, unless he 
be the subject of renewing grace. He may be a poet, he may be a 
painter, but the unlettered Christian who can 

"Lift to heaven an unpresumptuous eye, 
And smiling, say — ' My Father made them all,' " 

enjoys them with pui'est zest. 

God, is as sufficient to satisfy the heart, as he is worthy to 
occupy the mind. It is good to be laid upon a sick bed (if he 
bless it) to see the vanity of even the world's best and fairest ! 
What is poetry to the languid ear ? What are pictures to the aching 
eye ? or praise, or music, or gayety, to the sick and sinking heart ? 
Where is the mind itself, with all its boasted resources ? — Yet, when 
the thoughts are confused, and the fancy fevered; the judgment 
weakened, and the memory faithless — even then, the words which 
God speaks in his gospel, are spirit and life. Just where the world 
leaves us, He takes us up. Look at the images under which he is 
figured, and think whether they will apply to any other object in the 
universe? — A "Strong hold in the day of trouble" — a "Light to 
them that sit in darkness" — a "Refuge from the storm" — a "Sha- 
dow from the heat" — "Strength" in weakness — "Wisdom" in per- 
plexity — a "Comforter" in affliction: — a Sun, a Shield, a Fortress, 
a Deliverer, a Portion, a Father, a Friend, a Saviour — in all a God ! 
Oh! it is base ingratitude to forget this Being, "who daily loadeth 
us with benefits," until he remove some of those benefits ! — to put off 
thinking of Him who is worthy of the highest powers of the highest 
mind, till we can think of nothing to any purpose ! It is not enough 
that to the world's blinded vision, our temper, conduct, and character, 
seem fair and free from blemish; God regards the heart far more 
than the action ; his eye pierces through motives, thoughts and de- 
sires ; and estimates them solely as they have regard to himself, his 
glory and his will. It is sufficient condemnation if we forget God. — 
Light for the Young. 



52 "he doeth all things well.' 



"HE DOETH ALL THINGS WELL." 

At the close of the year 1851, while thinking of the many 
changes that had taken place during its rapid flight, of the many 
circles that had been broken by death, of the many hearts that had 
been made to bleed by the sundering of the tenderest ties ; the 
question arose in my mind, will my family, which has for many 
years remained an unbroken circle, still remain such for another 
year ? 

My heart beat languidly in reply, as I held in my arms a lovely 
child, who, though active and cheerful, seemed 

Like an opening rose-bud, 
Blooming far from native bower, 

and I feared its early blight might demonstrate. 

That earthly elime was too ungenial, 
To expand so sweet a flower. 

But, as the mother's heart is ever animated with hope, so I still 
indulged the thought, that the precious one might possibly be spared 
for usefulness, and perhaps, become the solace of declining years. 
But alas ! — how vain are earthly hopes ! — Ere spring had returned 
to bless us with her cheering influence, that "precious bud" had 
been plucked from its parent stem, and to our unassisted vision, left 
to wither and decay. Yet faith lifts the veil of obscurity, and 
unfolds to view that ^'lovely opening bud," transplanted to a fairer 
clime, where its sweet petals will never cease to unfold themselves 
beneath the beams of the Sun of Righteousness, where briers and 
thorns shall never intrude, and no rude hand shall sever. 

Although there is something lovely and beautiful in this view 
of the early and happy translation of a dear object of aff'ection ; — yet 
who may paint the feelings of the fond mother, as she beholds a 
part of her very self, sinking, gasping, dying, and laid in the cold, 
silent tomb? Maternal affection must weep. 



" HE DOETH ALL THINGS WELL." •"'>;^ 



But however painful may be that trying hour, and painful indeed it 
was to witness the last imploring look from those lovely eyes, — to 
receive the last well-known token of assent, to the inquiry " does 
my darling love her mother?" — to receive the last kiss from those 
sweet lips, already touched by *' death's icy hand," — and to close 
the scene, the light of life fades from the eye, and the quivering lips 
cease to move ; — however painful, I say, all this may be, there is a 
power sufficient to afford consolation, even in this hour of bitter 
grief:— 

For when the first wild throb is felt 

Of anguish and despair ; 
To lift the eye of faith to heaven, 

And think " My child is there !" 
This best can dry the gushing tears, 

This give the heart relief, 
Until the Christian's pious hope 

O'ercomes a Mother's grief. 

And now, should these lines meet the eyes of any who may be 
sorrowing for those who are *'not lost, but gone before," permit me 
to say to you, weeping mothers, as one who has tasted the bitter cup, 
I most deeply sympathise with you in your bereavement, but let me 
entreat you not to mourn immoderately, but humbly submit to the 
will of Him who " doeth all things well," 3ind who has an un- 
disputed right to demand at His pleasure the "priceless jewels" 
He had committed to our trust, onlt/ for a short season, that He 
might thereby prove our fidelity to Him : — and let us ever bear in 
mind, that while God's sovereign right of disposal, should be the 
primary ground of our consolation, there are other consoling circum- 
stances which should not be disregarded : — our little ones have been 
taken away in the purity of infancy, ere sin had marred the sym- 
metry of their moral natures, and they are spared all the trials and 
temptations of a sinful, selfish world ; perhaps a life of sin, and a 
death of despair. Also, our Heavenly Father has spared us the 
anxiety attendant upon the obligation of training them up for Him — 
and, perhaps, He has spared us other children who are not as well 
prepared for death as were the dear ones He has taken, that 
we may labor for their conversion, and rejoice in seeing them grow 
up to piety and usefulness. 

Therefore, let these considerations console our hearts, and excite 



54 PHYSICAL EDUCATION OF CHILDEEN. 

US to renewed vigilance in watching over our own hearts and lives 
as Christians, and in the discharge of the responsible duties devolv- 
ing on us as mothers, that at the "" Last Great Daj" we may, with 
our unbroken families, be found among that happy number, who, 
through the merits of a Saviour's Blood will be permitted to sur- 
round the throne of God, to sing the song of redeeming grace and 
dying love to all eternity. 

A Bereaved Mother. 



GENERAL DIRECTIONS FOR THE PHYSICAL EDUCATION OF CHILDREN 

DERIVED FROM THE GERMAN PRACTICE, AND ADAPTED TO 
THE AMERICAN POPULATION. 

The great difficulty in this country is, that we try to do too 
much for our children. If we would let them alone a little more, 
we should do better ; that is, if we would content ourselves with 
keeping them warm and clean, and feeding them on simple, whole- 
some food, it would be enough. 

They will take exercise of themselves, if we will let them alone, 
and they will shout and laugh enough to open their lungs. It is 
really curious for a scientific person to look on and observe the 
numerous and sometimes, alas ! fatal mistakes that are constantly 
made. You will see a family where the infants are stout and 
vigorous as a parent's heart could desire, and, if only let alone, 
would grow up athletic and fine people ; but their parents want to 
be doing, so they shower them every morning to make them strong 
— they are strong already ! 

Then, even before they are weaned, they will teach them to suck 
raw beef ; for what ? Has not their natural food sustained them 
well ? An infant will have teeth before it wants animal food. 

But all these courses they have heard were strengthening, so 
they administer them to the strongest, till excess of stimulants 
produces inflammation, and the natural strength is wasted by 
disease. Then the child grows pale and feeble ; now the stimulants 
are redoubled, they are taken to the seashore, kept constantly in 



PHYSICAL EDUCATION OF CHILDREN. 55 

the open air, and a great amount of exercise is insisted on. By 
this time all the symptoms of internal inflammation show them- 
selves : the skin is pale, the hands and feet cold, dark under the 
eyes, reluctance to move, &c., &c. But no one suspects what is the 
matter ; even the physician is often deceived at this stage of the 
process, and if he is, the child's case will be a hard one. 

I mention particularly this course of stimulants, as it is just now 
the prevalent mania. Every one ought to understand, that those 
practices which are commonly called strengthening, are, in other 
words, stimulating, and that to apply stimulants where the system 
is already in a state of health, will produce too much excitement. 
The young, from the natural quickness of their circulation, are 
particularly liable to this excess of action, which is inflammation. 
This general inflammation, in time, settles into some form of acute 
disease, so that in fact, by blindly attempting to strengthen, we 
inflame, disease, and enfeeble to the greatest possible degree. 

If we look at nature — at the animal instincts that are around us, 
what a difi'erent course does it advise ! The Creator has taught the 
lower races to take care of their young ; and if some accident does 
not happen to them they never lose one ; just as they manage 
to-day, just so did they do for them a thousand years ago. Man is 
left to his own reason, I had almost said to his caprice ; every 
age has produced difierent customs, and in consequence different 
diseases. More than half of the human race die under five years 
old ; how small a portion live to the full " three score and ten.'' 

Morally and intellectually, man may advance to an almost 
unlimited extent; but he must remember, that physically he is 
subjected to the same laws as other animals. Is it not quite time 
that we should bow our pride of reason, and look to the practice 
of those animals that raise all their young, and live out their own 
natural lives ? How do they manage ? We need not look far ; 
see, madam, the cat ; how does she contrive to rear her young 
family ? Who ever saw her give one of them a shower-bath ? 
Who ever saw her take a piece of meat to her nest, that her little 
ones might try their gums on it, before their teeth had grown ? 
Who ever saw her taking them out of a cold winter's day for 
exercise in the open air, till their little noses were as red as those 
of the unfortunate babies one meets every cold day? Not one 
of all these excellent fashionable plans does bhe resort to. She 



Ob PHYSICAL EDUCATION OF CHILDREN. 

keeps them clean — very clean, warm — very warm indeed. The 
Creator sends them to make their way in the world dressed com- 
pletely, cap and all, in a garment unexceptionable as to warmth ; 
there is no thick sock on the feet to protect from chills, and the 
head left with the bare skin uncovered, because reason had dis- 
covered that the head was the hottest part of the body, and that it 
was all a mistake that it should be so ; therefore it was left exposed 
to correct this natural, universal law of the animal economy. 
Pussy knows nothing of all this, so kittie's cap is left on, coming 
snug over the little ears ; and who ever saw a cat deaf (but from 
age) or a kitten with the ear-ache ? Yet the first thing that strikes 
a stranger, in coming to our land of naked heads, is the number 
of persons he meets, that are partially deaf, or have inflamed eyes. 
All this sounds like a joke, but is it not a pretty serious one ? Is it 
not strange, that men do not look oftener in this direction ? It is 
not the cat alone, every animal gives the same lessons. The rabbit 
is so careful, that lest her young should take cold while she is from 
home, she makes a sort of thick pad or comforter of her own hair, 
and lays it for a covering over them. We do not hear that the old 
rabbits, when they go out into life, (in our cold climate too) are any 
more liable to take cold from having been so tenderly brought up. 
In fact, I doubt whether they ever take cold at all, young or old ; 
while with man, to have a cold seems to be his natural state, parti- 
cularly in the winter season. I have heard some persons go so far 
as to say that a cold does not do a child any hurt ; but it is not 
true, let who will say it ; every cold a child takes, makes him more 
liable to another ; and another and another succeeds, till chronic 
disease is produced. — Mi^s, WhitteUey' s Magazine. 



To PREVENT Iron and Steel from rusting. — Heat the iron 
or steel till it burns the hands, and then rub it with a piece of pure 
white wax, and polish it with a piece of cloth or soft leather. This 
simple operation, it is stated, fills the pores of the metal, and defends 
it entirely from rust ; even though it should be exposed to moisture. 



INFLUENCE OF PARENTS. 57 



INFLUENCE OF PARENTS. 

Coleridge, speaking of religion, says, " It is associated "with your 
mother's chair, and ^vith the first remembered tones of her blessed 
voice." 

Blessed, thrice blessed is the child of whom this is true. Happy 
the man, vfho, looking back to his childhood's years, remembers his 
mother as a Christian : not from the fact of seeing her take her seat 
at the communion table ; not that she was always running to this or 
that meeting, or talking about this or that eloquent preacher, or 
boasting of her good works and good feelings, or disputing about the 
doctrines and peculiarities of her own or other churches. These 
things may all be done, and yet the recollections of our children be 
any thing but pleasant, and lead them any where but to the rewards 
of Heaven. 

If we desire to have our children recollect us as Christians, let us 
be daily careful that they see in us, such tempers as become the 
gospel of Christ. Let an atmosphere of meekness and patience be 
about us. Let the law of kindness dwell upon our tongue, not only 
toward our friends, but toward all mankind. Let our hearts be contin- 
ually lifted to God, for ourselves and them, that we may together be 
followers of the meek and lowly Jesus. Let our instructions to them, 
be in the spirit, as well as the words of the gospel. Let our govern- 
ment over them be firm, yet mild ; strict, yet gentle ; steady, yet 
tender. Then may we hope that the earliest recollections of our 
children will be of holy things, and that their later reflections will 
only confirm them in the belief, that the only path to happiness here 
and hereafter, is the path of true religion. H. S. 



" Life is but a day's journey ; shall we spend its best hours in 
gathering flowers, or chasing butterflies ? Again when tried by 
cares, sorrows, and temptations, let us draw comfort from the same 
consideration." 



AN INCIDENT. 



AN INCIDENT. 

In the management of children, I feel that truly a great responsi- 
bility rests upon the mother, and also the father : that each may 
second the wishes of the other ; that all family government may be 
mutual. We may often err in leniency, and as often in not appeal- 
ing to the child's views of right and wrong. I will relate briefly a 
little incident, which came under my own observation. 

A little, blithe, bright-eyed boy, of some four or five summers, 
whom we will now call Edwin, had disobeyed his mother. He saw 
it in her countenance, and was grieved ; and when asked what must 
be done, said : " You may punish me, but I want you to pray for me, 
mother, that God may forgive me. Whenever he had done wrong, 
there was nothing that would subdue his feelings like prayer, and 
then he would ask his mother to forgive him. May we not hope that 
such an one may be brought into the kingdom of God, although 
years may intervene. Yet we need to study each child separately ; 
even the members of the same family cannot be influenced by the 
same motives. Therefore, we are commanded to work, while the day 
lasts ; to " sow thy seed in the morning, and withhold not thy hand 
in the evening, for thou knowest not which may prosper, this or 
that." M. 



*' 'Tis well to walk with a cheerful heart, 

Wherever our fortunes call, 
With a friendly glance and an open hand. 

And a gentle word for all. 
JSinoe life is a thorny and difficult path, 

Where toil is the portion of man, 
We all should endeavor, while passing along, 

To make it as smooth as we can." 



A CHRISTMAS LETTER. 59 



A CHEISraAS LETTER, 

ACCOMPANYING A PACKAGE OF STATIONERY. 

Christmas Eve. 

My Little Friend Lucia : — To-night, how many hands are busy 
in carrying out the purposes of fond, loving hearts ? How many 
little hearts are beating with expectation of what to-morrow morn 
will bring to them ! 

Some, perchance, have grown so wise, that they smile contemptu- 
ously upon such scenes, and exclaim, " childish ! childish !" But, 
my little friend, if it be childish to find pleasure in these busy pre- 
parations ; childish, to watch the expectant throbbings of young 
hearts on a Christmas or New Year's day ; childish, to muse upon 
the peering look and inquiring smile of that little face that disap- 
peared so slowly and reluctantly from the family group to-night ; 
then I acknowledge that I am grown a child. 

And I do not see that the experience of a life of care, whose bur- 
dens, daily increasing in weight, come crowding thick upon me, are 
ever likely to make me one whit less childish. 

0, how I love to go back to the days of my childhood, — to sit in 
their sunshine till the shadows and cares of riper years are chased, 
one by one, from my clouded brow ! How I love to think of those 
seeds of love, and truth, and virtue, smaller than a grain of mustard 
seed, that sometimes came with these periodic tokens, and were drop- 
ped by some kind hand here and there along my pathway. My life, 
dear L., has been a changeful one. ''With varying hues of light and 
shade," it has been characterized. Much hurrying to and fro have I 
seen, and of many of its ever shifting scenes, I doubt not, I have lost 
sight forever. For they were like the mile-stones along the railroad 
path, of which we catch a glimpse as the car rushes by, but they 
eerve no other purpose than to tell us that we are rapidly receding 
from one point, and impetuously hurrying to another. 

But not so, to me, have been these little way-marks of love. Seeds 
have they been, which have sprung up and borne fruit, some an hun- 



60 A CHRISTMAS LETTER. 



dred fold. And now often times when I am weary with care, and 
ready to faint beneath the scorching sun, from which to-day's path 
affords no shelter, I go back and sit in the shadow of those trees, 
the product of those little tiny seeds dropped in my childhood's path. 
And, musing upon the kind Providence that caused them to fall 
when and where they did ; which sent the soft sunshine to warm 
them into life; the gentle dews and falling rains, to promote 
their growth, and to soften the soil that their roots might spread 
vnde, and strike deep, ere they should need to resist the cold winter 
storm. Musing upon these things, I say, my heart grows warm and 
fresh, and young again, and weariness drops from me like an old 
garment, or like the shell from the chrysalis, and I emerge, not a 
crawling worm, but a winged butterfly, fitted for a new voyage of 
discovery into regions unexplored before ; endowed with new ener- 
gies, to meet life's many exactions, and provided from the store- 
houses of the past with sustenance for the future. 

Looking back along life's pathway, I see here a tree in whose 
shade I have often sat down wearied, but risen up refreshed, and 
whose perfumes have often revived me when sick and fainting. How 
well I remember the little seed dropped upon a birth-day, from 
which it sprung. Ere long, the dews of death glistened in the morn- 
ing sun upon the little hillock where it was embedded; for the hand 
that dropped it would sow nor reap no more. It was quietly folded 
on the breast, and resting from its labors forever. That seed germi- 
nated through the watering of bitter tears, but its blossoms were all 
the sweeter for that. Pluck off carefully, a leaf of that rose gera- 
nium that grows in your window there. It is not very odorous, but 
crush it in your hand, and it becomes delightfully fragrant. Just so 
it is with earth's fairest blossoms. In their beautiful freshness they 
often yield little perfume ; but crushed and broken by some rude 
storm, they become fragrant with lessons of wisdom. 

Again, coming along up life's pathway, I am prone to rest a mo- 
ment under the spreading branches of another tree. The germ is of 
school-days' memory. The seed fell among thorns of envy, and 
briars of jealousy ; and for a time, they well nigh choked it. But a 
kind Providence was guarding its growth. Some good angel was 
sent to part the envious branches, hither and thither, and the slen- 
der stem shot up, sickly at first, but gaining strength with time, and 
now I often come and gather of its leaves to cure the heart-ache. 



A CHRISTMAS LETTER. 61 



But here I fancy that I see my little friend look up, and her face 
says, if her lips do not, " I wonder what all this means. I cannot 
understand it." Well, lay it by, and mark it, "Musings that I 
cannot understand." But on some future Christmas eve, when you 
shall have learned some of life's hard lessons of discipline ; when 
some winters that are followed by no spring, shall have passed 
over you, then go to that old drawer, in which are stored away 
childish Christmas tokens, and read these musings of a friend, 
and perhaps they will then speak to your heart, as they now come 
from mine. 

It is a very simple Christmas gift that I have chosen to accom- 
pany these musings. Perhaps you would not need any to tell you 
that I love you ; but it would be a pleasure to me to acknowledge 
very many little timely kindnesses that I have received from you, 
by a gift that would afford a gratification proportionate to that 
which I have received from my little errand girl's favors. But I 
have at hand nothing but a simple package of stationery. On 
one sheet, I fear I have already written " Some things hard to be 
understood;" but let us see if we cannot attach some more intel* 
ligible thoughts to another. 

First comes up a half quire of large sheets, closely ruled. 
— " What are these for ?" asks my little friend, and in the same 
breath she answers, " 0, I know, these are to write to brother 
E. upon." Just so. She meant that in twelve months, that far 
off brother should receive twelve good long letters — letters that 
shall make him feel that, whether at home or abroad, there is 
no wandering from a sister's love. The sheets are large enough 
to contain Fred's, and Charlie's, and Henry's, and Willie's mes- 
sage ; a kind word from cousin Mary ; a business postscript from 
father ; one word of admonition and two of encouragement from 
mother. ! a sister's letters should be full and fragrant with, 
" Home, sweet home." A sister's love should be a silken cord, 
but one which the strength of manhood cannot break. Five bro- 
thers' hearts to guard ; their home to brighten with your smile ; 
their fireside to render cheerful and attractive by your kind words ; 
their wants to lessen by your cares. What a mission ! And what 
a reward will it be in after years to have manly hearts and sincere 
lips bear testimony to the faithfulness, and purity, and gentleness 



62 A CHRISTMAS LETTER. 



of your love ; to have tliem record of you, that for their welfare 
" she hath done what she could." 

Next comes up a package of smaller sheets, gilt edged, but plain, 
and of the purest white, with the best Parisian stamp upon them. 
"Honor to whom honoris due;" and grandmother may expect a 
New Year's greeting in your very best hand upon one of these. 
The Paris stamp will be nought to her, but she could tell you 
of a stamp about which her father stormed, and over which her 
mother wept ; and she will tell you too, that it stamped the love 
of freedom upon her young heart. To her childish ears, the story 
of stamped paper was familiar, and of mourning and funeral bells, 
and flags at half mast on account of it. " 0," she would exclaim, 
" what a treasure such a Christmas gift would have been to me, in 
my young days ! A year's supply of paper, and liberty to write 
as much as I pleased ! Why, I never dreamed of such a luxury 
at your age." And most reverently would she charge her grand- 
child to remember, that " the lines had fallen to her in pleasant 
places," and that hers was " a goodly heritage." 

At the bottom of the package, you will find some fancy sheets 
and note paper. Good in their place are these, when they contain 
meaning rather than unmeaning compliments ; but far, far below 
a brother's interests, and that dear old grandmother's gratification 
should they be placed. At fourscore years of age, few pleasures 
remain, but while her dim eyes may, let them have the pleasure 
of reading frequent messages of love and duty and reverence from 
my little friend. 

Yours in much love, 

' L. H. S. 



Poison Antidotes. — For oil of vitriol, or aquafortis, give large 
doses of magnesia and water, or equal parts of soft soap and water. 
For oxalic acid give magnesia, or chalk and water. For saltpetre, 
give an emetic of mustard and water, afterwards mucilages and 
small doses of laudanum. For opium or laudanum, give an emetic 
of mustard, and use constant motion, and if possible, the stomach 
pump. For arsenic, doses of magnesia are useful, but freshly pre- 
pared hydrated oxide of iron is best. 



SHOWERS. 63 



SHOWEUS, 

BY CORNELIA M. DOWLINQ. 

Drops are falling, drops are falling, 

Softly through the waving trees, 
Tiny buds and flowers bedewing. 

As they glitter in the breeze, 
And we dearly love to listen 

To the rain, in glade or bower, 
And all nature smiles a welcome. 

Though 'tis but a summer shower. 

Drops are falling, drops are falling, 

Softly, sadly, still and slow, 
But the heart they bathe is withered, 

For those drops are drops of woe. 
And though quietly they're stealing, 

Still the spirit feels the power, 
Which they wield o'er broken heart-strings, 

In a dark and bitter shower. 

Drops are falling, drops are falling. 

Ever sparkling, ever bright, 
For 'tis kindness which hath started, 

Showers which fill the heart with light. 
Heal the sad and broken-hearted, 

Shed their rich and glorious dower 
O'er earth's wounded stricken children, 

In a very sunny shower. 

Drops are falling, drops are falling, 

Ever in this world of ours ; 
Drops of darkness and of sunlight, 

Bathing hearts as well as flowera 
But the dew of love and JdndnesSy 

Falling for one little hour. 
Will dissolve long years of sadnes 

In a pure and heavenly shower. 



64 LITTLE WILLIE AND HIS SHILLING. » 



LITTLE WILLIE AND HIS SHILLING. 

Willie Alston was a very Happy little boy : he had a nice 
home, kind parents and little sisters, and a baby brother, whom he 
loved very much. One day Willie's Uncle Charles came to see 
him, and gave him a new bright shilling. Willie was very much 
pleased with his shilling, and he determined to buy a little mission- 
ary box with it, and save something in it for the poor heathen. So 
he gave it to his mother to keep for him. The next day as Mrs. 
Alston was sitting at her work, Willie ran in, exclaiming, " Oh ! 
dear mother, do give me my shilling ! please mother give it to me." 
" Very well, my son," said his mother, " but do not be in such a 
hurry, for see you have upset my work-box, and my things are all 
scattered about." *' Never mind, mamma," said Willie, "I shall 
soon come back, and then I'll pick them all up nicely." Mrs. 
Alston placed the shilling in the eager little hand held out for it, 
and she wondered what use Willie would make of it. She went to 
the window and saw her son place his shilling in the hands of a 
rather dirty, but certainly miserable looking man ; silently musing, 
she returned to her work. The little boy soon entered, and for some 
time busied himself picking up the various contents of his mother's 
work box. She waited to hear him speak of his shilling, but as 
he said nothing, she said, " Willie, what did you do with your shil- 
ling ?'* " I gave it to a very poor man, mamma," said the little 
boy. " How did you know him to be a very poor man my son?" 
said his mother. " Oh! mamma, he was so very ragged and dirty, 
and had nothing to eat," said Willie, earnestly looking up to his 
mother. 

Mrs. Alston paused ; she wished, yet dared not show to her child 
the difference between true and false charity. Willie was naturally 
of a warm and sympathising disposition, and she shrank from the 
task of showing to one so young and trusting, how much he might 
be deceived by the many, who have ever at hand a tale of wo to 
tell — then, how could she check the generous impulse springing up 
in that young heart ? Might it not, sickened with the prospect be- 
fore it, wither and die away altogether? 

But on the other hand, with a false notion of charity, and no 



LITTLE WILLIE AND HIS SHILLINQ. ' 6c 



other guide save his own impulsive heart, how much injury might lie 
not unavoidably commit, and how much of real want would be 
pa-ssed over unnoticed ? Thus she reasoned, and calling her child 
to her she clearly explained to him the difficulty of relieving the 
real wants of the poor in this way ; the possibility too of his alms 
being used as a promoter of vice instead of relieving misery as he 
intended it should. Willie listened attentively to his mother, and 
resolved in future always to ask her advice about giving away money 
to, poor persons, for he saw clearly how much harm his gift might 
do, unless it had fallen into the hands of a deserving poor person. 

'' Come Willie, get your hat, and I will take you with me," said 
Mrs. Alston to her son. Willie was soon equipped and ready to 
accompany his mother, who gave him a small package to carry, 
and they proceeded on their way. After walking a few squares, 
they turned into a small street, and stopped at the door of a poor 
looking house. Mrs. Alston rapped at the door, which was opened 
by a surly looking old woman, the expression of whose face changed 
instantly on seeing the character of her visiters. '' Does Mrs. Wil- 
son live here ?" asked Mrs. Alston. " Yes, in the third story 
back room," was the reply. They entered the filthy room, which 
seemed to supply the place of kitchen, chamber, and parlor : two or 
three dirty children were playing about the floor, and Willie could 
not help comparing their begrimed faces and matted hair, to that 
of his sisters, Fannie and Mary, always so neat and tidy. He fol- 
lowed his mother up two flights of narrow creaking stairs, and they 
stopped at the door designated by the woman. Mrs. Alston tapped 
on the door which was soon opened by a tidy little girl who ush- 
ered them into a room which strikingly contrasted with the one 
below. A feeble looking boy was seated by the window, propped up 
with pillows. Mrs. Alston spoke to him, and he held out a hand so 
thin and pale that Willie was surprised to see it ; he also perceived 
that he was blind. The room was scantily furnished, though it was 
the picture of neatness. A small fire burned in the little cooking 
stove, and the warm October sun casting its cheering rays on the 
invalid, and lighting up his pale features, presented an aspect 
worthy an artist's pencil. There was no carpet on the floor save 
a small piece of well worn rag carpet, which covered the centre, but 
the rest of the floor was very white, and every thing, though poor, 
looked clean and pretty, "How do you feel to-day George?" said 

5 



66 * LITTLE WILLIE AND HIS SHILLINa. 

Mrs. Alston, taking the thin hand in hers, "and where is jour 

mother?" "Mother has gone to Mrs. B 's to take home some 

sewing," said the boj, "and I feel much better, I think this warm 
sun makes me feel stronger. I think I could be well again if I could 
only go out," he added, raising his sightless eyes to Mrs. Alston's 
face. Tears gathered in Willie's eyes, and he remembered that he 
had never yet thought of thanking God for health and strength 
to walk, and run about, and the gift of sight, that he might behold 
all the beautiful things that he has made. " Do you not get 
tired of sitting here all day?" asked Mrs. Alston. "Oh! no," 
said George, " but I often wish I could do something for mother to 
help her along, as Mary does ; but the time passes very pleasantly, 
for mother or Mary is always with me, and sometimes mother reads 
to me of an evening, or on Sundays, and I love it so much," he 
added, with much animation of manner. During this conversation, 
Mrs. Wilson entered, and Willie was astonished to observe that in 
spite of her apparent poverty, she possessed that true refinement of 
manner which ever characterizes the well-bred. She greeted Mrs. 
Alston cheerfully, and patted Willie's head. Willie could not but 
notice the sad expression that crossed her fine expressive face as 
her eye wandered in search of her blind boy. Mrs. Alston in- 
quired concerning her work. " I still have some to do, with which 
I manage to get along, but I could do much more if I had it," she 
said sadly, **but," she added cheerfully, "you know I still have 
Him who feedeth the ravens to go to." — " I have brought you some 
sewing," said Mrs. Alston, " for which there is no positive hurry, 
still I would like it as soon as convenient." Mrs. Wilson said no- 
thing, but Willie caught the look of gratitude which was sent up to 
heaven. " I am truly obliged, and it shall be finished as soon as 
possible," she said, after a pause, as she took the work from Mrs. 
Alston's hand. They now rose to depart. Willie placed his hand 
in that of George's, which the latter grasped in his thin pale fingers. 
" Shall Willie come and read for you sometimes, George ?" asked 
Mrs. Alston ; " he would like to," she added. " Oh! yes, ma'am, if 
you please," said George, while his mother's face brightened up, 
and even little Mary looked highly gratified. " Then I will come 
to-morrow," said Willie, joyfully. Mrs. Alston smiled an assent, 
and they departed. 

During their walk, Willie could talk of nothing else but the Wil- 



LITTLE WILLIE AND HIS SHILLING. 67 



sons, he asked his mother many questions respecting them, which 
she answered by telling him the following simple sad story : 

"Mrs. Wilson was like many a one, who, on setting out in life had 
a comfortable home, anxi a kind indulgent husband, but the demon 
intemperance came, and with the gaming table, deprived her of her 
home and happiness, and finally, laid her husband in the drunkard's 
grave. Thus the heart-stricken widow was left to provide for her- 
self and four small children, one of whom had been blind from its 
birth, she removed into a single room, the one in which we found 
her, and contrived to gain a scanty pittance by sewing for various 
stores. Death entered it and took her two youngest children, and 
although this might seem to some, to have been a relief, yet who 
can tell the feeling of that wo-worn mother as she laid her infants 
in the cold, cold earth ? But Mrs. Wilson had learned to look 
higher for help than earth, and she rested calmly in the hope of 
meeting her loved ones above." 

It was then that Mrs. Alston became acquainted with her, and 
when hope had well nigh failed in the heart of the widow, God 
had sent her this friend in her hour of direst need, and who would 
have doubted how deeply she realized this blessing as coming from 
his hand, could they have seen with what heart-felt thanks she 
raised her eyes to heaven, as Mrs. Alston and Willie departed, and 
said, " He never leaves or forsakes." 

Willie asked and obtained permission to take any of his books 
and read for George, and he was just thinking he would take ''Bible 
Stories," before " George Somerville," when suddenly on turning 
into a street near the one in which they lived, their steps were 
arrested by the appearance of a considerable crowd, and a couple 
of police men who were leading or rather dragging along a drunken 
man, Avho was making some resistance, besides swearing in an awful 
manner. Mrs. Alston shuddered, and in crossing to avoid the 
crowd, they obtained a sight of the unfortunate man. It was the 
same one to whom Willie had given his shilling in the morning! 
" Mother," said Willie, as he returned the next afternoon from 
reading to George, '' Mother, I think I understand the difference 
now, between true and false charity." 

Willie has now a little mission box, and saves five dollars every 
year for the poor heathen. Will not our young readers " Go and 
do likew^ise V Ella. 



68 " THE ONLY CHILD OF HIS MOTHER." 

"THE ONLY CHILD OF HIS MOTHER." 

BY MRS. E. C. JUDSON. 
Written on the occasion of the burial of a very interesting child, eighteen months old. 

Not to the dim, cold churchyard, 

Not to the narrow grave, 
But give the mother's treasure 

To the keeping of the wave. — 
The wave so soft and sunny, 

So beautiful and free ! — 
Oh, sweetly will he slumber 

In the bosom of the sea ! 

Yet look not there, young mother, 

Strange shadows throng the way, 
And faithful is the "Warden 

That guards his precious clay ; 
But ask a clearer vision, 

Then turn thine eye above, 
And seek among the blessed, 

The treasure thou didst love. 

Not by those pale, sad features, 

Thou'lt know thy darling now, 
Nor by the look of suffering, 

On his sweet patient brow ; 
Life, life is springing round him, 

Joy flashes from his eye, 
And his little form is radiant. 

With the beauty of the sky. 

Yet thou art sad and lonely. 

But now he seemed thine own, 
And, treasured in thy bosom, 

To him thy heart had grown ; — 
Weep on ! young mourning mother I 

Thy Saviour wept in love, — 
And he looks in pity on thee, 

From His glorious throne above. 

Bow meekly in thy sorrow. 

Before the mourner's Friend, 
That His loving hand may lead thee, 

On to thy journey's end; — 
On, and forever upwards, 

Till in the realms of joy 
Thr)u'rt wolcomod by an angel, — 

Thy beautiful fair bov. ! 



NOVEL READING. 



69 



NOVEL READING. 

The mind of man is so constituted as to receive deep and lasting 
impressions from surrounding objects, being not a mere recipient, but 
rather a powerful engine, acted upon in a great degree by outward 
influences. It is a generally acknowledged fact, that the society 
in which an individual moves, moulds his character, and in his 
intercourse with the world even his very thoughts become assimi- 
lated to those of his companions. If then the associates of man, 
in his social intercoui'se, exercise such an influence in the develop- 
ment of his mind, it necessarily follows that books, the companions 
of his more thoughtful moments, should be still more powerful in 
forming his morals, and establishing his principles. 

Our object in reading, is not, or should not be merely to afford 
amusement, or to while away time, but to gain from the vast store- 
houses of the wisdom and experience of ages, ability to perform our 
part in the world aright, and to prepare our souls for the great rea- 
lities of eternity. A mother, who would give her child poison merely 
because it was pleasant to his taste, would be pronounced insane; 
and yet there are mothers, aye, hundreds of them in our own com- 
munity, who administer, or at least allow their children to feed upon 
literary poison, which kills not only for time but for eternity. 

If there were no other books than the novels of the present day, we 
should wonder that mothers permitted their children to peruse them ; 
but we wonder still more, as we enumerate in our minds hundreds of 
works which might be read by the young, with advantage. Let the 
novel reader open and examine the Bible, and he will there find beau- 
ties of speech and character, not to be discovered in the works of a 
Bulwer, a Scott, or a Cooper. Inspiration guided the pens of the 
Bible, but worldly-mindedness controls the hearts and pens of all 
novelists. What novel can boast a more beautiful character than 
Ruth? What fictitious work contains more real poetry than the 
Psalms ? and in short, where can be found more thrilling descriptions 
of prowess and adventure, than in the Bible ? 

Mothers, I appeal to your 'judgments, is not this the book for 
your children ? Would you, if your child were dying, dare to read 



70 



NOVEL READING. 



to him a passage from a novel to calm his last agony ? Would you, 
if you were upon your death-bed, call for a frivolous novel to be 
your last earthly companion? You must acknowledge you would 
not. But, mother, remember that novel which your child is now 
perusing may be the last book upon which his mortal eye shall rest — 
to-morrow eternity may claim him, and then what will the ideas and 
views derived by him from George Sands, or Madame d'Arblay, or 
Eugene Sue, produce? Mother, are you allowing your charge to 
feed his immortal soul upon poison ? Remember, your child is a 
loan from God, and to him are you awfully responsible for your 
watchfulness. Your child has a soul which can never be annihilated, 
which is capable of the highest joy, or of the deepest woe, and that 
soul is entrusted to your care. What an overwhelming responsibility 
is yours ! 

I, for one in multitudes, have felt the poisonous effects of novels, 
and therefore feel it to be my duty to warn others against their per- 
nicious influence. 

Perhaps some of my young readers have acquired the habit of 
perusing these dangerous works. If such be the case, allow me, as 
a friend, as one who cares for your best interests, to entreat you, to 
abandon what must ultimately unfit you for life in this world, and in 
a future. Life is too much of a reality to be trifled away in the pe- 
rusal of fiction, or in the chase of dreams. 

It may be, through my pen I speak to some novel writer. If it is 
so, let me remind you of that dread account, that you must give, of 
the manner in which you have employed your talents. God has 
given them to you and he justly demands their influence in his cause ; 
but now, Satan controls your powers and uses your works as a mighty 
engine in winning men from godliness and plunging them into misery. 
Oh ! consider well your awful responsibility, for the ideas which you 
indite are imbibed by countless multitudes, who, if you do not meet 
them on earth, will stand with you before the bar of God, and there 
witness against you. Beware of the overwhelming wrath of that God 
who hath said, " that every idle word that men shall speak, they shall 
give account thereof in the day of judgment. For by thy words thou 
shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned." 

S. F. F. 



PASSING WINTE'l. 




PASSING WINTER. 

BY S. S. GURLEY. 

Cold Winter has gone with his icicle hair, 
Like a lion he's roared, and laid down in his lair ; 
Full many a loved one he's chilled with his breath, 
Alas ! they are gone to the regions of death. 



But Winter^s not dead, he has laid down to sleep. 
Those friends too are living, then cease ye to weep ; 
In Spring never ending they're blooming and fair, 
The frost and the chill cannot wither them there. 



WOMAN S RIGHTS. 



WOMAN'S RIGHTS. 

It is with some tiesitancj that we name this subject, knowing that 
it is exciting public attention at this time, having its advocates and 
opponents, into whose lists we have not the effrontery or desire to 
enter. Where talent and argument are displayed, let them be met 
with talent and argument. Of these we do not boast, yet feel con- 
strained to let the pages of the Home Garner speak on a subject 
involving not only the best interests of society, but the highest dig- 
nity of woman. We feel the more reluctance in defining our views, 
knowing that they are, on some points, contrary to^those maintained 
and disseminated by many of our own sex, whose intellectual supe- 
riority we acknowledge with deference. Yet, with one of old, we 
claim the privilege, while we feel it duty, "to show our opinion." 

With those who discard, or disparage the teachings of the Bible 
on this subject, as the opinions and maxims of men just emerging 
from barbarism, whose commands and instructions were warped by 
the long established usages of the society in which they had been edu- 
cated, we have nothing to do. We hold the Bible as the standard 
not only of faith, but of practice. The book for all time ; for every 
place. Oh, with what adoring love and reverence should woman 
clasp the Bible to her heart, as she kneels at the shrine of Christi- 
anity ! Its teachings have taken her from beneath the foot of man, 
where she was his menial, — the slave of his will and passions, and 
placed her by his side as his companion and friend. Does she seek 
a higher place ? 

But what are some of the rights, which are so earnestly and elo- 
quently demanded for woman, by the reformers of society at the 
present time ? Among other things an acknowledgment of equality 
of talent is claimed. That woman has intellectual capacities equal 
to man, is so universally conceded, that, for her to argue it, seems an 
implied admission of conscious inferiority. But those capacities 
were given her for the accomplishment of different purposes ; — to be 
cultivated, not for a less extensive, but a different sphere ; to inves- 



woman's rights. 73 



tigate oftentimes other subjects, though not the less important for 
the general good. 

The right of suffrage and civil office are the most strenuously 
urged, and with some apparent reason. Where the obedience to, 
and claims of law are demanded, a voice in their formation and man- 
ner of enforcement, seems but just. But on the same ground man 
might claim equality with his Maker. For this assumption of right, 
Milton represents the angels as being cast out of heaven. But what 
saith the Scriptures : " The head of the woman is the man." " The 
wife is to be in subjection to her husband." " I suffer not a woman to 
teach or to usurp authority over the man ; for Adam was first formed, 
then Eve." "As the church is subject unto Christ, so let the wives 
be to their husbands." On this subject the teachings of the Bible 
are very explicit. They have clearly defined the bound of the 
female sphere. And will Christian women seek to disannul the word 
of God ? Are they wiser than He ? Had not He who formed them 
a right to assign them a particular place ? And because the Great 
Lawgiver has relieved them of the responsibility of managing the 
affairs of state, while he has given them in sacred trust to a stronger 
sex, to be cherished and cared for as tenderly as their own flesh, 
will they complain of being subject to law ? That females sometimes 
suffer wrongs, cruel wrongs, we do not deny. But will those wrongs 
be redressed, by assuming an equal position in the public arena, and 
entering in person, the strifes, debates, and bustle of the moral, poli- 
tical, and business world ? Will the men who are brutal tyrants be 
made less so, by being confronted at the ballot-box by female votes ? 
Will those men who regard females as inferior — as being intellectu- 
ally the "weaker sex," be inspired with respect, and a full appre- 
ciation of their worth, by claims to public office and emolument ? 
Will they have a stronger admiration of female character, and learn 
to honor it more, by her mounting the rostrum, and setting forth 
her own ability and right to sustain an equal position with them in 
legislative and business transactions ? And what becomes of the 
" rights " of the ordained head ? Where is the deference and respect 
due to that ? As well might the heart assert its right to a place as 
conspicuous as that of the head, because of its importance to the 
human system, thus destroying not only the order and perfect har- 
mony of the physical organization, but its power and life. That 
organ, though unseen and noiseless, except to the most attentive lis- 



74 woman's RI»3HTS. 



tener, is the seat of life, sending vitality and warmth to the extrem- 
ities of the whole body. And while it throbs faithfully on in its 
sphere, it enables the head to will with reason. 

If equality in every respect is claimed, then certainly there must 
be equality in the division of labor and privations : and who of us, 
after all the equal rights are granted, would be willing to take our 
chance amidst the turmoil, impudence and neglects of the great 
multitude. Who of us would forego the thousand offices of kindness, 
the polite attentions which are constantly shown us by men because 
we are females, and occupy a different sphere from them? The 
little incident which is told as recently occurring in a railroad car, 
when a man refused to give up his seat to a woman, saying, " she 
is an advocate for the woman's rights system, let her take her 
chance," revealed volumes in regard to the light in which woman 
would be viewed, and the manner in which she would be treated, if 
placed on a common level with man. 

That woman has intellectual capacities sufficient to meet and 
discharge the duties of public life we do not deny. That she has 
capacities to explore the profoundest depths of science, it is vain to 
contradict. And who has forbidden her research ? The fountain 
of knowledge is as free to her as to any. Neither nature or revela- 
tion utter a word against it. She may wield the pen of the ready 
writer — she may make the canvass glow with life, or the statue 
speak, — she may climb the mount of song: — all these and more 
she may attain, and not for a moment lay aside her feminine delicacy 
and dignity. In the realm of literature, science and art, she may 
sit as queen. 

That she has capacities (which if cultivated in that direction 
alone,) to climb the mount of fame, to legislate for nations, to 
control empires, and lead armies to battle and victory, is no disputable 
fact. History furnishes abundant proof that females can accom- 
plish all these. But are they specimens of amiable, virtuous cha- 
racters, which we would hold up for our daughters to copy? Do 
the age and times in which they figured bear marks of intelligence, 
refinement, and social and domestic happiness ? Do not these 
instances appear as contortions on the page of history, marring 
what otherwise might have been symmetrical ? Who would covet 
the fame of a Dido, a Jezebel, an Anne Boleyn, or Queen Mary ? 
Who would not rather be noted as the mother who trained her som 



woman's rights. 75 



to shine in courts and sway sceptres of righteousness ? — as the 
teacher — the mind-former of statesmen and divines ? — as the sister 
who with gentle, loving hand held back her noble daring brother 
from leaving the path of virtue and true honor? The domestic 
circle and the school-room are the provinces over which woman 
reigns, and may reign supreme. Here she lays the basis of future 
government. Here she instils the principles, which in a few years 
will be inwoven into the texture of public sentiments and laws by 
which herself will be governed. Just so much bad influence and 
wrong teaching as she gives, just so much of oppression and evil 
doing will be wrought out, when the boy becomes the man. Would 
that while females are contending for more power and enlarged pri- 
vileges, they would seize vigorously upon what is already granted 
them. And we do contend, that while the Creator has made them 
subordinate to man, He has given them an exalted position : that 
while He has loaded them with peculiar responsibilities, He exempts 
them from facing the severe storms, and bearing the heavy burdens of 
life. While He withholds from them the reins of public power and 
the right of dictation, He has placed them on an eminence, and 
covered them with a panoply of protecting love from which it is sin 
to depart. And what would be attained were the right of suffrage 
and the chair of office granted to woman ? What, but an increase 
of clashing opinions, and emulation for public favors ? No separate 
ray of light or political tactics could be expected to fall on the 
female mind, but each would adopt the sentiments of some party, and 
strenuously maintain them, if not at the point of the bayonet, at 
the point of the tongue, and what would be gained ? — What, but 
the privilege, shall I say ? of depositing a vote in the ballot box, 
mingling with the rabble, inhaling the smoke, listening to the bets 
and oaths, and witnessing the fights and rows of a town-meeting day, 
at the expense of wounded delicacy, and neglected duties in other 
relations. 

The right to medical knowledge is another which is strongly urged 
at the present time. This we would urge too. Who, if not the 
mother, needs to understand the physical constitution, the laws by 
which it is governed, and the remedies to be applied, when that con- 
stitution becomes deranged or impaired ? Physiology should be a 
leading study in all our schools, while every proper opportunity for 
gaining medical knowledge should be improved by females. But to 



WOMAN S RIGHTS. 



the study of medicine, with a view to its practice as a profession 
there are some of the same objections as to their taking any profes- 
sion or occupation which will make them conspicuous actors before 
the public, and bring them in contact with the rougher elements of 
society; beside the exposure of health consequent upon such a 
profession. It is argued "that females make the best nurses" — 
true, '' and hence they would make the best physicians." In this as 
in the other instances named, we venture no doubt of the compe- 
tency of the female powers to acquire the knowledge, and carry to 
complete success the practice of medicine. Things may be lawful 
which are not expedient, and it is possible for females to accomplish 
what does not seem lawful or proper. The most delicate suscepti- 
bilities become hardened by the contemplation of scenes and subjects 
which at first made them writhe. The keen sensibilities and finer 
feelings which are so prominent in the female character, and which so 
admirably fit her for her peculiar relations to society, must be tor- 
tured, if not entirely overcome by the study and every-day practice 
as a physician. While the soft hand, the kind nursing, and patient 
endurance of woman is indispensable in the sick chamber, the 
feelings shrink from one who can nerve herself to go voluntarily to 
the dissecting room, or lead her to look the most revolting scenes of 
distress in the face, as the business of life. Where duty and 
necessity call let woman prepare herself to go, if it be to fell the 
trees of the forest, or meet the lion in his lair. There are sometimes 
extreme cases which require extreme efibrts to meet their demands. 
But God made man with greater physical strength and less sus- 
ceptible feelings, to meet the great emergencies, to perform the 
public drudgery, and fight the battles in the out-door world — to be 
the shield and protector of her who is to cheer, and beautify, and 
bless the world within ; to be the dew of life, noiseless but refreshing: 
— unseen amid the storms and winds which sweep over society, but 
glistening in the sunlight, and exhaling the odor of flowers. And 
in a country like ours, where there are men of intelligence, and of 
virtue sufficient to meet these emergencies and perform the heavier 
toils, does duty call females to the same posts ? 

Medical knowledge seems necessary for the wives of our mission- 
aries to the heathen, as they go where there are few, if any 
physicians, and are obliged to prescribe for body as well as soul ; and 
special provisions should be made for them to attain this knowledge. 



woman's rights. 77 

There is still another phase of this subject which we wish to look 
at for a moment. The argument, which is used to show the impor- 
tance of having female physicians, that it would be more consonant, 
many times, with modesty and delicacy, has weight : yet how does 
this accord with the efforts and arguments, to have our medical 
colleges thrown open to female as well as male students ; where 
they must of course promiscuously attend to the investigation and 
illustration of the most delicate subjects. And again, what martyrs 
to delicacy, for the benefit of the sex, those females must be who, 
even with no male students around them, are daily receiving instruc- 
tions on these subjects from male professors, and these not their 
fathers, husbands, or brothers either. Consistency is a jewel, 
wherever found. 

But most to be repudiated, is that sickly false delicacy, which 
leads multitudes of females to listen to lectures and explana- 
tions of the human system from men, if not of doubtful, yet 
unknown character, while they would blush to consult their virtuous, 
faithful family physician on the same subjects. These lectures 
are advertised as ''^expressly for females,'' as though the most pro- 
found respect for modesty and the largest desire to impart necessary 
information, dictated the whole movement, when it may be questioned 
whether it is not for the gratification of a sensual purpose. Some 
may receive instruction which is useful to them. But is it not to 
be feared that such familiar exhibitions of subjects which, in some 
respects, ought to be kept estranged, tend to weaken the barriers 
of virtue in the mind, especially of the young. If we must have 
this knowledge, let us have it from minds that we know are 
intelligent, and lips that we know are pure. 

After all the investigations and discussions as to the proper 
sphere of woman, we come to the conclusion that that sphere is 
home; for that let her be educated. Not educated in the lowest 
sense, to make a mere place, where a family may stay, to eat, 
drink and sleep, but a home for the intellect and affections — a 
sacred shrine where are treasured the purest, sweetest joys of 
garth. There she will find the secret of her power. There she can 
wield an influence far more important for the good of her country, 
and more honorary to herself, than to share in its legislations or 
acquire any of its public distinctions. 

Mrs. M. G. Clarke. 



78 



THE MEMORY OE THE JUST IS BLESSED. 



"THE MEMORY OF THE JUST IS BLESSED." 

The accompanying Hnes, penned for a dear brother in the ministry, 
are a memorial of a beloved mother now in heaven, Sarah Thomas 
Huntley, to whose prayers and pious instructions the writer is 
indebted, instrumentally, for a hope in Christ, and who was for 
more than thirty years the faithful wife, and assistant laborer of a 
Gospel Ranger, now the revered pastor of a New Hampshire 
Baptist church. 

She was born in the metropolis of England, but cast in childhood 
by a capricious fortune in a wild, picturesque vale of the Green 
Mountains. A gay lover of the world and seeker of pleasure, she 
became at the age of twenty-six a lover of Jesus, and a zealous 
seeker of souls. She had been sprinkled in infancy in St. Paul's, 
and carefully educated in the ritual of the Church of England : but 
after her conversion, united with a Baptist Church, and remained 
such until her death. Possessed of uncommon energy and quick- 
ness of parts ; cultivated manners and powers of conversation, with 
a warm heart, she gave herself up, as a devoted missionary to the 
poor and neglected among the highlands of northern New England. 
And during the first seventeen years of her self-denying toils, untold 
sufferings and sacred joys, she was engaged with her husband in more 
than twenty precious revivals ; during which period her husband re- 
ceived no stated remuneration, for theirs was emphatically a mission 
to the poor J and many a thrilling instance might be named of her 
having been compelled to walk by faith, trusting her little ones to 
Him who commissioned the ravens to his beloved. 

Though Mrs. Huntley travelled extensively with her husband, and 
labored unweariedly in Bible classes, in sabbath schools, in benevolent 
societies, in tract distribution, in prayer meetings, in inquiry meet- 
ings, and from house to house — yet the rights of hospitality ; the 
sorrows of the mourner and distressed ; the small social charities of 
every-day life, or the home comforts of her own household were never 
forgotten or neglected. And she managed to train up with care a 
large family of children, "in the nurture and admonition of the 
Lord;" every one of whom who arrived to an age of responsibility, 
she lived to see members of the Christian Church. 

HcT works lie sealed in the hidden past, but a treasured name 
lingers still, not only in the hearts of her children, but with nume 



MOTHER. 71) 



roiis others who, through the blessing of God, we have reason to be- 
lieve were brought to saving grace by her fervent prayers, and 
labors. Many who, no doubt in the resurrection morning, will rise 
up from the hills of Vermont, the vales of New Hampshire, the 
hamlets of Canada, of New York ; and the Isles of Lake Champlain, 
to sing, with her the song of the Lamb, in the regions of bliss. 

MOTHER. 

She pressed me to her heart-strings 

Whichthrobb'd,— Oh! painfully— 
But Jesus bade me leave her 

And speed far o'er the sea. 
And say'st thou, my brother ! 

The loved has passed away ? 
Say'st thou for us no mother 

Now lives to watch and pray ? 

Yet peace, — the heaven — harps whisper, 

While soft their tremblings stray, 
And round me seem to linger 

To woo my tears away. 

Long years we saw dear mother 

Grow pale in want and care ; 
With weary heart and wandering, 

Our father's toils to share, 
And oft, did sorrowing trial 

Her path with shadows strow ; 
For pain and self-denial 

Th' Evangelist's wife must know 

But still thy name shall waken 

On green New England shores 
A sweet, a holy fragrance 

From mem'ry's sacred stores, 
Nor shall thy pitying labors 

On northern icy plains. 
Be all untold by angels 

Who marked thy prayers and paina. 

No, no, my holy mother! 

While here we sadly bow, 
A wreath of starry brilliants 

Adorns thy sainted brow. 



80 THE RABBIT S INSTINCT. 



Yet thou art there all radiant, 

Mid sweet symphonious choirs, — 
Bright sister bands triumphant 

O'er earth's annealing fires. 

Then hark, — hark, my brother ! 

That voice that floats along ; 
" Gird faith — be strong — nor falter — 

Wake, wake the slumbering throng 

Ellen H. B. Mason. 



THE RABBIT'S INSTINCT. 

After George's rabbit had once run away, and come so near 
making his escape in the woods, his little master kept very close 
watch over him, showing that he felt a little jealous, and a little 
fearful that he had not the first place in Beauty's heart after all his 
boasting talk. 

I cannot tell you exactly how the rabbit felt, but I suppose that 
though he loved George and Harriet, and felt perfectly contented 
with them ; yet, when he got out in the fields, and smelt the air 
of his native woods, and heard the wind rustling among the trees, 
a recollection of something he had almost forgotten came over him, 
and he began to call to mind his old home and old companions ; then, 
perhaps, he said to himself, " I will just run over there, and see 
how I like it." If he had fairly got into the woods, and found com- 
panions there, it is very probable he would soon have forgotten the 
kind little boy and girl who loved him so much. When at night he 
lay down among the leaves, he would not have cared a fig for the 
nice, new house George had built for him ; and when he was getting 
his breakfast among the tender plants, running about to nibble here 
and there a juicy leaf, just to suit his appetite, he would not have 
once wished for the piece of bread and cup of sweet milk, which 
Harriet used to bring him. 

And what is the reason that bunny would not miss these comfort- 
able things ? Because he was formed to live without them. God 
has given every little creature he has made enough to make it happy. 
The Bible tells us, '^ His tender mercies are over all his works." 



THE rabbit's tnpttxct. 81 



lie made the birds to fly in the air, and their wings and the air are 
so nicely fitted for each other that they move in it with pleasure, and 
that makes apart of their happiness. So the fishes love the water, 
and the little ants the sand, and the mole to be digging under 
ground ; and all this because God has fitted each of them for these 
places, and the places for them. Then, perhaps, you will ask, " Is 
it not very cruel to take them from the place they love, and confine 
them where they do not choose to stay ?" Not cruel, I think, if they 
are well provided for. It is wrong for a child to torture any crea- 
ture for the sake of amusement ; but to give them a new home, and 
teach them to love it, is a very different thing. This may be done 
without inflicting much pain, for they have not the memory, and the 
tender sensibility of children ; yet it would not be right to take any 
thing from their comfort if it would be of no benefit to any one. 
The inferior animals were made for the service of man, and if to be 
a companion of some gentle, beautiful creature, which God has 
made, will make a child more gentle and affectionate, then the little 
creature considers it one of the highest purposes for which it was 
created. 

George's parents saw that he had a restless, daring spirit, and 
they wished to make him more gentle and domestic. In the course 
of a few years he became much more quiet, contented, and home- 
loving, and the companionship of Spring and Beauty, with all other 
means of enjoying home which his parents were careful to provide, 
had the effect which they desired. 

''I see now," said his sister Eliza, who was three years older than 
he, "how wise father and mother are, to allow George to have 
plenty of amusements at home, and just such as are suited to his 
taste. James Morton and Charles Wilder, both had the same tastes 
and dispositions, but they had no pleasures at home which they really 
enjoyed, and one of them followed the circus riders off, and joined 
their company, and the other has gone to sea without the consent of 
his parents." 

L. L. H. 



" Verily they are all thine ; freely mayest thou serve thee of 
them all. They are thine by gift for thy needs, to be used in all 
gratitude and kindness. Gratitude to their God and thine — their 
Father and thy Father." 

6 



82 THE LITTLE GIRL's HEART. 



THE LITTLE GIRL'S HEART. 

A MOTHER has sent the following for insertion in our volume. 
She sajs, ^' Mj little Harrietta, who died three years ago, was so 
captivated with it, that she cut it from a paper and placed it in the 
family Bible, where it has remained until now." 

"Pa," said Maria suddenly, one day after she had been thinking 
for some time, " Pa, what does heart mean ? When you talk about 
my heart, I can't think of any thing but those gingerbread hearts 
that we eat." 

" You know, dear, that your heart is not any thing which you can 
see." 

" yes, pa, I know that, I know my heart is not like those, but 
I want to know what it is like." 

" You know there is something within you, which loves and hates ; 
this something is your heart. So when God says, ' Give me your 
heart,' he means, 'Love me.'" 

" Pa, it seems as if I wanted to love God, but I don't know 
how." 

" You know how to love me, don't you ?" 

" yes, papa." 

" But I never told you how to love me." 
0, but that is very different." 

" Different — how ?" 

" Why, papa, I see you, and know all about you, and you love me." 

" Do you love nobody that you have never seen, Maria?" 

" I don't know, papa ; yes, to be sure, I love grand-papa, and 
uncle George, and aunt Caroline. But then I have heard you talk 
about them, papa, and I know that you love them, and they have 
sent me presents." 

" So I have talked to you about God, and you know that I love 
Him, and he has made you more presents than every body else in 
the world. Besides, you love people sometimes who have never given 
you any thing, and wliom none of us have ever seen. Don't you 
remember little Henry and his bearer?" 



THE LITTLE GIRL'S HEART. 83 

*' Yes, papa, I love Henry, I am sure." 

" Yoa see then it is possible to love the characters of people whom 
you have never seen. Now, the character of God is infinitely 
lovely ; He deserves to be loved more than all other beings together ; 
and if you love those who have been kind to you, only think what 
God has done for you. He gave you parents to take care of you, 
when you could not take care of yourself ; he has given you food, 
and clothing, and health, and friends ; he has watched over you by 
night and by day, and when you were sick he has made you well ; 
and now, when he comes to you, after all this, and says, ' My 
daughter, give me thine heart,' you say, 'No, I can't, I don't know 
how ; I can love my father and mother, and brothers and sisters, 
but I cannot love God, who gave them all to me.' " 

'' 0, papa, I will, I do love him," replied Maria, with fervor. 

" Perhaps you think so now, Maria." 

" 0, I shall always love him, I know I shall." 

Her father smiled. 

" Papa, you cannot see into my heart — how do you know that I 
do not love God ?" 

" Suppose you should come to me every day, and say, * Dear 
papa, how I love you,' and then go right away and disobey me — 
could I believe you ?" 

"No, papa." 

" Well, dear, how can I believe that you love God, when I see you 
every day doing those things which he forbids ?" 

Maria could not reply to this, and so the conversation closed. 
She was obliged to confess to herself that her father had spoken 
the truth, but still she thought it no evidence that she did not 
love God. "I never thought," said she to herself, "that when I 
am cross to George, or any thing like that, I was sinning against 
God ; at least, it never seemed as if Ho minded any thing about 
it ; and I did not think about His being so good either ; but now 
I remember it, I shall never do so again, and then pa will see 
that I love God." 



" I love them that love me, and they that seek me early shall 
find me." 



84 THE SUNSHINE OF HOME. 



THE SUNSHINE OF HOME. 



" We must saj our prayers, EHa," said little Mary, as her sister, 
already undressed, was about to lie down in their little bed. 

" I am not going to say my prayers any more," replied EUa. 

" Not going to say them any more ? Not say ' Our Father !' " 
exclaimed Mary, as she stopped untying her shoes, and looking at 
EHa in amazement. " How shall we go to heaven if we do not say 
our prayers !" 

" I don't want to go to heaven, if Aunt Martha is going to be 
there," said the child, "and if it is going to be always Sunday. 
Oh I'm so tired to-night, and I wish it would never be Sunday 
again." 

''When dear mamma w^as alive," said Mary, "the Sundays used 
to seem different to me, for now they are very long ; but we shall 
never see dear mamma unless we try to be good, never, never!" 
Ella burst into tears. " Do come and kneel down with me, Ella 
dear," continued Mary, "and we'll say our prayers together." 

With quivering voices, and blinding tears, the two little ones 
knelt together, and offered their evening prayers. They had just lain 
down when Aunt Martha came for the light. Seeing the tears 
on Ella's face, she enquired " what she had been crying for now." 
There was no answer at first ; and the question was sharply repeated. 

" At first she did not want to pray," said Mary, " and then, — " 
" Crying because she did not want to say her prayers, eh?" inter- 
rupted Aunt Martha, " and then we talked about our, — " 

" There stop your crying, and go to sleep, and dou't let me hear 
of such doings again ; if you do, I'R wliip you," said Aunt Martha. 

" Such depravity in such a child," said she to her brother, as she 
went down stairs. " That Ella has been crying because she didn't 
want to say her prayers. I don't know what wiU become of her." 

The little girls, with their arms about eacli otlicr, wci)t tlicm-^olvcs 
to sleep. Mr. ^Sinclair was a man of business, and since the death 



THE SUNSHINE OP HOME. 85 



of his wife, two years before, had been most of the time away from 
home. He had secured Aunt Martha, an ehierly maiden sister, to 
be housekeeper and guardian to his motherless little daughters, 
mainly because she was capable, and prudent, and withal a woman 
who prided herself on ' minding her own business' and abjuring 
what she considered new-fangled notions. She was a professor 
of religion, and strictly observant of all its outward forms, but had 
not a tithe of that " Charity which hopeth all things." She be- 
lieved with Solomon, that the rod was indispensable in training 
perverse childhood ; but she did not believe in that love which 
blesseth little children, and saith, " of such, is the kingdom of 
heaven." Mr. Sinclair saw that his children were quiet and sub- 
dued ; the house was orderly and still ; he knew that they were 
taken to church, and that the commandments, and the catechism 
were studied every Sabbath ; he saw nothing wrong in their de- 
meanor, and beyond these, he thought or cared little. 

Ah ! there was much that he could not see. The bright hopes 
and aspirations checked, the desires and impulses thwarted, the 
gushing waters of affection's fountain, turned harshly back to their 
source ; the sunshine of life shut out of those young hearts, and 
the beautiful religion of love and hope, which Jesus taught, made to 
appear cold, and dark, and gloomy. 

Mary was seven years old, conscientious and thoughtful, quiet 
and gentle in her way. Ella was five : — an impulsive, lively, affec- 
tionate little creature, perverse under harsh restraint, but whom the 
finger of love could guide where it would. 

It was the week before Christmas, and many a young heart beat 
lightly, and sober faces were growing bright in prospect of the 
cheerful gatherings and gifts of the festal day. In Mr. Sinclair's 
house, however, Christmas was no different from other days. He 
was too busy to attend to it, and Aunt Martha said that " this 
making so much parade about Christmas, was contrary to her 
bringing up, and she should not have the children's heads filled with 
such ' notions.' On the present occasion, however, a little school- 
mate of the children's, was to have a Christmas tree, and the 
matter was talked over, and dwelt upon at school, with the keenest 
delight. At last a note of invitation was sent to Mary and Ella, 
and delivered to them at school. The joyous exultation with 
which it was read, soon changed to apprehension. 



86 THE SUNSHINE OF HOME. 



"Aunt Martha will not let us go !" said Ella. 

" Oh, perhaps she will, if we are very good," replied Mary 
" At any rate I'll ask papa, and perhaps he'll let us." With more 
than childish prudence and tact, the note was concealed till dusk, 
when " father" came home. Seated together in a corner of the 
sofa they waited an opportunity when Aunt Martha should go out 
of the room to see about tea, to present it. How long she sat and 
knit vigorously as ever, while the domestic was bringing in the 
supper ; and how their little hearts beat, lest she should not go at 
all! At last, however, she reached the "middle of the needle," 
and laying down her knitting went out of the room. But father 
was reading the newspaper. Should they interrupt him ? for that 
was .a forbidden thing. The impatient little Ella, however, could 
brook no longer delay. She slid off the sofa, and approaching him, 
said softly, " Father !" He still went on reading. " Father," she 
ventured again. "Be quiet, child, I'm reading now," he answered. 
" But won't you read a note that we've got to show you?" perse- 
vered the child. 

"A note! where is it?" said Mr. Sinclair. Mary eagerly 
brought it, and the two children stood by his side. He finished the 
article he was reading in the paper, and then laying it down, pro- 
ceeded to unfold and read the note. The two children looked at 
each other, as his eye glanced over it. Just then the door opened, 
and Aunt Martha entered. " What is that ?" said she, seeing hei 
brother reading the note, and observing the children's interest. 

" Only an invitation for the children to attend a Christmas 
gathering, at Mr. Russell's," he replied. 

" May we go, father ?'" asked both the children at once. "Just 
as Aunt Martha thinks best about it," he rei)lied. 

" They are going to have a Christmas tree," said Mary. " And 
we should have such a beautiful time !" added Ella. 

" Hush, children !" said Aunt Martha, " you won't go, so there's 
an end of the matter. Now sit down and be still, and say no more 
about it !" With Aunt Martha, stillness was one of the cardinal 
virtues. 

They seated themselves at the table. " Why do you think they 
had better not go, Martha ?" said Mr. Sinclair. 

" Because, it's the ruin of children going to such places. The 
more they go, the more they'll want to; besides going out in 



TWO m HE/WEN. 



evenings makes children sick and cross, and I've enough to do now 
without having 'em sick. They'll be wanting a Christmas tree 
themselves next year, if they go to that. It was no longer ago 
than yesterday that Ella was asking me, if she were to hang up her 
stocking Christmas Eve, if Santa Claus would come down the 
chimney, and fill it with presents ! A pretty parcel of such wicked- 
ness they pick up at school !" 

This speech was delivered before the children were helped, but 
the food now placed on Ella's plate, remained untasted. A look of 
sorrowful disappointment shaded Mary's face, but Ella's grief was 
keener; and at "the sharp question, "why don't you eat your supper, 
child," the tears which had been gathering in her eyes, rolled down 
her cheeks, and she burst into a passionate fit of weeping. "• Go 
up stairs, this instant!" said Aunt Martha, and the child withdrew 
to her room, and throwing herself on the floor, sobbed hysterically. 
" There, John," said Aunt Martha to her brother, " now you've 
seen a specimen of that child's temper when she is crossed ; you 
couldn't believe she was so bad, but now you see for yourself!" 



TWO IN HEAVEN. 



"You have two children," said I. 

" I have four," was the reply; "two on earth, two in heaven." 
There spoke the mother ! Still hers ! only "gone before !" Still 
remembered, loved, and cherished, by the hearth and at the board ; 
their places not yet filled, even though their successors draw life 
from the same faithful breast where their dying heads were pil- 
lowed. " Two in heaven !" Safely, housed from storm and tem- 
pest ; no sickness there, nor drooping head, nor fading eye, nor 
weary feet. By the green pastures ; tended by the Good Shepherd, 
linger the little lambs of the heavenly fold. "Two in heaven!" 
Earth less attractive ! Eternity nearer ! Invisible cords, drawing 
the maternal soul upwards. " Still small" voices, ever whispering 
come ! to the world, weary spirit. " Two in heaven !" Mother of 
angels, walk softly ! Holy eyes watch thy footsteps, cherub forms 
bend to listen ! Keep thy spirit free from earth taint ; so shalt thou 
"go to them," though "they may not return to thee." 



88 THE CURE FOR FEAR. 



THE CURE FOR FEAR. 



On the 10th of October, 1846, I sailed from New York for 
London. The steamer which brought home the delegates to the 
Christian Union Convention had just arrived in port, after a perilous 
voyage, during which they had at one time given up all expectation 
of life ; and in the near view of eternity had committed themselves 
into the hands of the God whom they feared, and who they felt was 
"able to keep that which they committed to him against that day;" 
but in his good providence he caused the storm to abate, and they 
arrived safe, thankful that they had not found a watery grave. 

The morning was fine, the wind fiiir, and the vessel, the good 
ship Mediator, sound, the captain kind and gentlemanly ; and in 
high spirits we hoped for a safe and speedy voyage. While the 
pilot steamer accompanied us, every thing was exhilarating, but no 
sooner had she left, than the waves of the sea, dashing and foaming 
from the late storm, occasioned our vessel to pitch and roll violently, 
and the passengers betook themselves to their berths. The wind 
rising, increased the motion of the vessel, and repose was impossible, 
Sea sickness attacked us, and we all felt sleepless and fearful. But 
little was said, and that little any thing but comforting. The hatch- 
way was closed, and the Avaves beating violently against the sides 
of the vessel, and dashing on the deck, made us feel that there was 
but a plank "between us and death." 

My little daughter lay beside me, and I heard her gentle whisper- 
ing voice, repeating the Psalm, " The Lord is my shepherd, I will 
not fear." The words gave a sudden turn to my thoughts, and 
thankfully, rejoicingJij, I united with her in repeating the same. 
An excellent Christian friend who was near, joined us. The 91st, 
commencing, " He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most 
High shall abide under tlio shadow of the Almighty — I will say of 
the Lord lie is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in him will [ 
trust," was repeated, with many other of the precious passages in 
God's word, calculated to inspire confidence, hope and peace. Our 



THE CUKE FOR FEAR. 89 



minds became not merely calm but joyful, and our voices were 
raised in singing 

" God moves in a mysterious way, 
His wonders to perform, 
He plants his footsteps in the sea, 
And rides upon the storm.'^ 

" The God who rules on high, 

And thunders when he please, 
Who rides upon the stormy sky 

And manages the seas. 
This awful God is ours, 

Our Father and our Love 
He will send down his heavenly power 

To carry us above." 



And again- 



Sweetly encouraged by these sentiments, a heavenly calm pervaded 
our souls, and we felt willing to " pass through the sea to glory," 
if such our Father's will. Our singing drew the attention of our 
fellow passengers, and when we ceased, four Germans, with voices 
harmoniously attuned, commenced an anthem. "We understood not 
the words, except the precious name of Jesus was oft repeated. The 
music had a soothing influence on all, so that we shortly fell asleep, 
and rested as well as when at home. 

Such was the result of an idea suggested by a child. I trust my 
young friends who read this will treasure up in their memory the 
promises and precepts of God's word, and as a Sabbath School 
Superintendent used to say, "lay them on shelves, that you may 
know where to find them in time of need." But for the gentle 
whisper I have mentioned, we should all probably have passed an 
anxious, sleepless night. But " God giveth his beloved sleep." 
Those who trust in him are kept in "perfect peace," in every cir- 
cumstance and trial of life : and it is only when we take the eye of 
faith from Jesus, and cast it as Peter did on the dark clouds, and 
still darker waters, that we begin to sink in despondency. The 
remainder of our voyage was pleasant with a few days exception, 
and we arrived in London on the 4th of November, thankful to our 
God for his mercy, who had brought us to our " desired haven." 



00 thp: value of the religious element to society. 



THE VALUE OF THE RELIGIOUS ELEMENT TO SOCIETY. 

BY REV. I. BEVAN. 

It is common for some persons to trace all the evils now existing 
in society to its established forms of organization. The present 
structure of society is with them a kind of Pandora's jar, from 
which in all their diversified but ugly forms, issue every species of 
misery by which man is afflicted in his varied relations and condi- 
tions in life. This is the bitter fountain, the source of all poisonous 
streams, whose waters, instead of producing health and fertHity, 
bring with them suffering and death in all their course. Man is ig- 
norant, debased, vicious, and discontented, because the machinery 
of his social relations is not properly adjusted, or is disjointed and 
deranged. Man^ the abstraction, is a very good sort of being, but 
ruined by society. The raw ^naterial^ man, is of prime quality, but 
X\iQ manufacturer^ society, with his clumsy and ill-adjusted machinery, 
turns out a bad article. 3Ian is a beautiful being, but society a de 
formed monster. Man is the incarnation of goodness and innocence, 
but society a demon of evil and crime. 

•For all the evils and sufferings of the human race these indi- 
viduals can discover but one remedy — the reconstruction of the 
frame work of society. This is their specific — the sovereign panacea 
— for all the ills that flesh is heir to. Let society be right in its or- 
ganization, and man will be right. Let the machinery be well ad- 
justed and made to work with philosophic precision and regularity, 
and the manufactured article will be as good as the raw material. 
Thus worked he will be a fabric of great worth and beauty. He 
will be as good in his life, as he is in his birth. He will be as vir- 
tuous and pure in his development, as he is in the spring and germ 
oi' liis existence. Let society but do its duty in untying the hands 
of man, and how wondrously and admirably will he work out his 
own destiny. Let the tyrant, society, but remove those clogs and 
wciglits it has hung around the neck of man, and he will at once 
stand up in all his noble dignity as a redeemed humanity. Let 
society remove the seal which it has placed u])on the hidden fountain 



THE VALUE OP THE RELIGIOUS ELBxAIENT TO SOCIETY. 91 

of man's goodness, then will flow out in exhaustless bounty the 
streams of all virtue and happiness. Let society but draw aside 
the curtain of its own sable night, and then the world will speedily 
burst into the broad day of a glorious millenium. Then will men 
be free, and will be as gods, knowing good and evil. 

Theorists of this character may mean well. They may have some 
claims to our respect (at least in some instances,) for decided excel- 
lences of character. They may be distinguished for 'superior abil- 
ities, considerable intelligence, persevering industry, and honesty 
of intentions. Justice requires that we should accord due credit to 
them for whatever is deserving. But it will always be found that 
their philosophy is ''falsely so called," and in reference to man's 
individual or social interests, is derived from any other than its own 
pure source — the Bible. Hence they come ultimately to discard 
that book as antiquated, and denounce all its institutions as worse 
than useless, standing in the way of modern progress. They are 
to man, socially and morally, what empirics and quacks are physi- 
ologically and hygeianly. They are very much like men who, when 
they find traveling rendered somewhat inconvenient and uncomfort- 
able by mountains and valleys, should wish to have all the inequali- 
ties of the earth reduced to a dead level. This should be the grand 
remedy for all the evils of traveling. 

The foundations of man's social relations as they now scripturally 
exist, are as indestructible as man himself in his present form or 
state of existence. To make a radical change in these relations, 
it would be necessary to introduce him into a new and different 
state, and mode of being. The only true hnprovement to society, 
and the only remedy to its evils that will be correct and effectual, 
must, therefore, rest upon, and be in perfect harmony with these 
same foundations. Nothing can be really true or safe that aims 
to sap, or in the least to disturb these. The family, including the 
marriage and parental relations, is the natural and divinely insti- 
tuted social organization. Communism, the unnatural and human. 
The church, not as a hierarchy, but as a simple local institution, is 
the divinely constituted associational organization. These are the 
two great organized sources of good to man as a social and religious 
being. These are fundamental and permanent, and as they have 
preceded, will out-live all others. Man's true elevation and hap- 
piness require that these should be preserved sacred and inviolate. 



92 THE VALUE OF THE RELIGIOUS ELEMENT TO SOCIETY. 

AH Others, really to benefit man, must be in perfect harmony with 
these. All others without, or in antagonism to these, must always 
prove inimical to man's best interests, and can not but ultimately 
fail. These act reciprocally upon, and in narmony with each other 
in conserving and promoting all that is true and good in man's 
social condition. It is where these exist in their true simplicity, 
and in their greatest purity and power, undisturbed by other and 
doubtful organizations, that man attains to the highest degree of 
personal excellence, and of social virtue and happiness. It is 
therefore, safe for us to decide upon the true character of ever;y 
attempt made to benefit society, whether organized or unorganized. 
by the relations it sustains to these. 

Such an institution as the Sabbath-school comes between these, 
not to divide but to unite ; not for evil, but for good ; not to as- 
sume the responsibilities of parents, nor to release them from duty, 
nor to presume for a moment to occupy the place of the church. 
Each of these is left in its own natural and divinely ordained state, 
unimpeded and uninterrupted in the exercise of its own power, and 
in the flow of its own duty and influence. The church, when pure 
and scriptural in its organization and character, is the clear moun- 
tain lake, and the Sabbath-school one of its outlets. The Sabbath- 
school is a nursery to the church, and a fruit-yard or garden to the 
family. Its relations to society are, therefore, most valuable and 
important, because so natural and harmonious, so friendly and sub- 
servient to the great designs of its true organization. It is a na- 
tural oflfshoot or adjunct of the church, by which it seeks to diffuse 
in society the religious element, and, therefore, exists only for its 
highest good. 

What does society need for its most beneficial and successful de- 
velopment ? What does man need to render his social relations and 
condition healthful, pleasant, and happy ? We may say, that he 
needs the means of subsistence — employment well remunerated — 
business that is productive and profitable — education, intelligence, 
and freedom, under a well organized form of government. lie 
needs good laws and faithfully administered. But he may have all 
these, and yet be socially debased and unblessed. Society, with all 
these, may be any thing else than peaceful, virtuous, and happy ; 
and by its deterioration may soon greatly endanger, if not effectually 
destroy all we have stated. 



THE VALUE OF THE RELIGIOUS ELEMENT TO SOCIETY. 93 



What then is its greatest want ? What is of highest social value 
to man ? Is it not another and more important element than any 
of those just mentioned ? Is it not an element that can give health- 
ful power and efficiency to all others, and the only one that is 
adequate to do this ? And what element is that but the religious ? 
That which is found to consist in the knowledge of the true God, 
and of Jesus Christ whom He hath sent into the world. The element 
that is implanted as a divine seed in every regenerated soul : that is 
combined, nurtured, and embodied in every church, that by its 
prayerfulness and activity, the purity of its faith and consistency 
of its practice, possesses and developes the true scriptural life. It 
is the element of health and power which such a church labors to 
distribute through all the ramifications of society. Religion thus 
contemplated comprehends the proper recognition of God's claims, 
and a due regard for the rights of man : a reconciled submission to 
God as the great Sovereign and Lawgiver of the universe through 
Jesus Christ, and true love to all mankind. In the case of every 
man who truly possesses it, God finds his true place, and is supreme ; 
His will is law, and that law imperative. Man is a brother, and the 
object of brotherly care and affection. The fear and love of God, 
faith in, and submission to Christ, become at once governing prin- 
ciples, and controlling man in all his relations to society. Religion 
gives to man the true knowledge of all his relations to God and to 
his fellow-man. It also imbues him with the true sentiment and 
spirit of all these relations. It vitalizes in his mind the great idea 
of right in its reference to his Creator and to his fellow-creature. 
It gives living energy and control to the spirit of loyalty, and to the 
sentiments of justice and goodness. It redeems him from selfish- 
ness, lust and passion. It makes him free — a freed man indeed, 
as in Christ he is rejrenerated, pardoned and justified — free to do 
and to enjoy good. The law is put in his mind, and written upon 
his heart, and it is the law of love. The law of the Spirit of life 
in Christ Jesus makes him free from the law of sin and death. He 
has his freedom, but by the power and as the subject of this law. 
He possesses and enjoys it in the bonds of filial love and genuine 
allegiance to God ; in the spirit of simple and childlike submission 
and obedience to Christ: in the cords of fraternal affection and 
friendship to man. 

Here then is the true power of the religious element in man. It 



94 THE VALUE OF THE RELIGIOUS ELEMENT TO SOCIETY. 

is the power of knowledge — the highest knowledge. It is the 
power of redemption from sin in its dominion and penalty. It is 
the power of law, in its noblest and best form — of love. It is the 
power of God in all his justice, holiness and grace in and over man. 
It is the power of Christ in saving and blessing man by turning him 
from all his iniquities and winning him to truth and goodness. This 
throne of power it sets up in the individual man. It restores and 
re-establishes in the empire of his own soul the rightful authority 
and government of God. It applies the remedy at once to the real 
and radical cause of all that man suffers or can suffer individually 
and socially — Ms selfishness. As is its true efficacy in man, so does 
he become unselfish and noble. So does he become like God, his 
Heavenly Father, and like Christ, his precious Saviour. And so is 
he moulded and fashioned after the true model for all the duties and 
relations of social life. The religious is the most valuable and im- 
portant element to society, because it is the only regenerator of the 
individual man. In this way it promotes most certainly and suc- 
cessfully its order, peace, usefulness and prosperity. It is the great 
power to conserve and advance its true and great interests without 
any loss or detriment to any of its institutions. It subverts and 
destroys only that which is evil, but confirms and sustains all that 
is good. Its work is a radical and foundation work in the indi- 
vidual, and through its individual members it aims to leaven society 
with its own godlike and ennobling principles. It casts the salt of 
its own truth and grace into the living human springs to heal their 
deleterious waters. 

What a weight of responsibility rests upon religious parents. 
Sabbath-school teachers and other Christians in their relations to 
society. They are the living depositaries of its great element of 
health, of virtue and true happiness. They are the agents God is 
pleased to employ to confer upon society its highest benefits, by 
the diffusion of this element. They by their active and consistent 
course, are to give to churches their strengtli, beauty and efficicTicv. 
It is thus the ordinances and ministry of churches are sustained 
and made a blessing to the world. 

It is placed in the power of Christian parents and teachers to 
confer this benefit upon society through the young, by imbuing 
them with the great and living principles of the Bible. With the 
promised blessing of God, they can graft the religious element upon 



THE VALUE OF THE RELIGIOUS ELEMENT TO SOCIETY. 95 



the young shoot or tree, and secure good frm% as its first fruit. 
They can sow the good seed in the virgin soil of society. Let them 
feel the magnitude of this truth, and be animated by a noble con- 
sciousness of the inestimable good, God has made it possible for them 
to accomplish. Let them with humble but firm reliance upon the 
Saviour, gird themselves anew to the work as God's husbandry, as 
God's builders in society. Let them have a sleepless care for the 
young, and sow in their hearts the seed of all that is honest, just, 
pure, lovely and of good report. Let them do their part of the 
great work of laying broad and deep the foundations of society, 
and of rearing the most ample and durable fortifications'. It is thus 
they will succeed in raising the strong barriers that shall effectually 
restrain vice and lawlessness, and in wielding that arm of power 
that will suppress riot and rowdyism, and that will protect property, 
person and character. Thus they will employ the mighty cords 
which will bind men together in all the relations of the social state 
in the most peaceful, honorable and happy manner. And they will 
do all this for society, when its members are in their forming state. 
They will accomplish a work for society which the best of statesmen, 
and the wisest of legislators will find themselves wholly inadequate 
to bring about, as they will bring up its juvenile members in the 
"nurture and discipline of the Lord." 

The moral are the highest and greatest wants of man in all his 
relations. These it is wise and of the greatest importance to meet 
in the earliest stages of his history and progress. Let them be neg- 
lected or but imperfectly attended to, and the uniform result is that 
society becomes increasingly corrupt and disorderly. Its founda- 
tions will be easily destroyed. Its relations will too generally be 
the fruit of passion, and formed in haste. They will, therefore, 
hang loosely together, and will frequently end in sad and disgraceful 
dissolution. The family will be the scene of perpetual disorder, 
and home the arena of bitter and endless strife and bickering. 
The contagion will spread, and our streets will be the scenes of law- 
less violence, of noisy brawls and of deadly feuds. We shall look 
almost in vain for filial duty, for purity of love and conjugal fidelity. 
We shall find man every where regardless of the rights of his 
fellow-man, and a depredator upon all the sources and elements of 
his social peace, purity and enjoyment. The evil is inherent in 
every human heart. It is onlv to let it alone uncared for, or not 



9G XnE VALUE OF THE RELIGIOUS ELEMENT TO SOCIETY. 

suitably attended to, and it soon developes itself. It soon becomes 
rampant in its growth of passion and lawlessness. Its harvest of 
vice and misery will speedily ripen. 

Our great work then is to meet the moral wants of man in liis 
infancy and youth. We possess the requisite means. It is only 
for us to use them with skill and fidelity, looking to God for his 
blessing. We have the great element to meet all these wants. The 
element of religion, of God's word, which He by his Spirit employs 
in making of depraved and guilty man a new creation. We are, 
therefore, to seek the earliest and most eifectual application of this 
saving and reforming element, in the genuine conversion of the 
young. This must be our high aim. With nothing short of this 
can we be reasonably satisfied, as the friends of society, because 
thus alone can the correct mould and truly safe direction be given 
to its individual members. It is thus alone we lay the true founda- 
tion of character, of usefulness and happiness. Man in this way is 
made what he should be in his earliest developments, in his first and 
highest relations, those he sustains to God. If right in these, and 
supplied with a knowledge of his duties, and with the continued 
means of religious culture, he can but be right in society, and 
society can not but become as a fruitful field or the garden of the 
Lord. 



WANTED: AN HONEST, INDUSTRIOUS BOY. 

An honest, industrious boy ! Just tliink of it, boys ; will you 
answer this description ? Can you apply for this situation ? Are 
you sure that you will be wanted ? You may be smart and active, 
but that does not fill the requisition — are you honest ? You may 
be capable — are you industrious ? You may be well-dressed and 
create a favorable impression at first sight — are you both honest 
and industrious? You may apply for a "good situation" — arc you 
sure that your friends, teachers, accpiaintances, can recommend you 
for these qualities ? 0, how would you feel, your character not 
being established, on hearing the words, " can't employ you." 
Nothing else will make up for the lack of these qualities. No 
readiness or aptness for business will do it. You must be honest 
and industrious — must work and labor : then will your " calling and 
election" for places of profit and tni>t he made sure. 



MY MOTHER. 



MY MOTHER. 



BY W. a. BROWNE. 



A deeper shade than that of earth 
Rests on my weary soul to-night ; 

Dear Mother ! thou who gav'st me birth ! 
Where dwelFst thou in the world of light ! 



I watched thy last expiring breath, 
And almost heard thy victory-shout, 

As in the silent sea of death 

Thy jQickering lamp of life went out ! 

Upon the rugged mountain's brow 
Thy form with kindred dust we laid , 

One green tree waves above thee now, 
Like that thy memory ne'er shall fade. 

I've marked yon stars with lingering gaze 
I know thou sing'st to-night with them, 

might I catch one note of praise. 
One song that tells of Bethlehem ! 

In vain, in vain — no mortal ear 

May learn their holy hymns of love, 

No eye may see the forms they wear 
Beyond the pearly gates above. 

Yet often in my midnight dreams 

Tliou com'st, as when on earth, the sanie , 

Mid wonted haunts, by childhood streams, 
I take thy hand and call thy name. 

My Mother ! other forms may sleep 
Forgotten in death's silent sea ; 

One treasure in my heart I keep, 
Thou never wilt be dead to me ! 



THE ACCEPTED OFFERING. 




THE ACCEPTED OEPERING. 

BY J. BELCHER, D. D. 
Matt. XXVI. 6-13 ; Mark xiv. 3-9 ; John xii. 3-8. 

She loved hor Saviour, and to him 

Ilor costliest present broug^ht; 
To crown his head, or grace his name, 

No gift too rare she thought. 

And though the prudent worldling frowned, 

And thought the poor bereft, 

Christ's humble friend sweet comfort found, 

For he apuruvcd the giit. 

Anon. 



THE ACCEPTED OFFERING. 99 



We turn to it, — as to a thing 
Gentle, compassionate, pure, ho\j, good. 
And the heart's better feelings as they cling 
Unto its memory, lead us, as they should, 
To genuine virtue's most congenial mood ; 
Not taught by speculacive creeds, which draw 
The mind's attention from its heavenly food ; 
We feel this truth impressed with holy awe, 
That LOVE is in itself, fulfilment of God's law. 

Barton. 

Who has not felt deeply interested in what we may call the pas- 
toral visits of the Lord Jesus ? Joyfully would any of us leave the 
public procession, with all its gay pageantry, to hear him converse for 
half an hour with two or three friends. Mrs. Harriet Beecher 
Stowe, in her inimitable " Mayflower," introduces the lovely pic- 
ture as delineated by her old friend " Father Morris," of the visits 
of Jesus to his favorite family, some two miles from the city. '^The 
great bustling city of Jerusalem first rises to view, and you are 
told with great simplicity, how the Lord Jesus ' used to get tired of 
the noise ;' and how he was ' tired of preaching again and again, to 
people that would not mind a word he said ;' and how, when it came 
evening, he used to go out and see his friends in Bethany. Then 
he told about the house of Martha and Mary : ' a little white house 
among the trees,' he said, 'you could just see it from Jerusalem.' 
And there the Lord Jesus and his disciples used to go and sit in the 
evenings, with Martha and Mary, and Lazarus." 

Would it not have a happy influence on social Christian parties 
if the question were sometimes asked, ' How should we spend the 
evening if the Lord Jesus were present ?' Assuredly not in gloom 
and moroseness, and as certainly not in levity and guilty mirth. Let 
us look for a moment or two at a pleasant evening spent in the house 
of a man at Bethany, named Simon, whom Jesus seems to have 
recovered from the loathsome disease of leprosy. As our Lord and 
his friends sat at supper, enjoying the cordial hospitality of their 
host, a female friend stealthily entered the room, carrying in her 
hand a sealed flask or bottle, containing not less than twelve ounces 
of a rare and highly valued perfume, called JVard, and, breaking the 
seal, she poured it on his head, and washing his feet with her tears, 
she wiped them with her hair. This woman was none other than 
Mary, the sister of Martha and Lazarus, of whom we read else- 



100 THE ACCEPTED OFFERING. 

where as clioosing a seat at the feet of Christ in preference to making 
preparation for a feast. The event took place almost immediately 
after the Lord Jesus had raised her brother from the dead, and was 
probably intended to testify her gratitude to him for that great act 
of his powerful mercy. 

The immortal Bunyan, in his "Jerusalem Sinner Saved," identi- 
fies Mary wdth the penitent sinner, who performed a similar act at 
the house of Simon, a record of which we have in the seventh chap- 
ter of Luke ; and in his own graphic style describes his former cha- 
racter, the eftbrts made by INIartha to hear Jesus of Nazareth preach ; 
how she heard him preach on the lost sheep, the lost piece of money, 
and the prodigal son; how she thought he looked at her, and ''sat 
sobbing and crying all the rest of the sermon ;" and goes on to de- 
scribe her change of dress and manner, her visit to Simon's house 
after dinner, the conduct she pursued, and the manner in which her 
course was defended by the holy Redeemer. But the limits very 
properly assigned to this article will not permit us to turn aside, 
even for another moment from the accounts we have now before us. 

One great fact with which we are struck as connected with the 
transaction was, that the disciples of Jesus looked on with disap- 
proving surprize. He whose life had been marked with poverty, 
and who had not unfrequently suffered greatly from hunger, now 
permits perfume to be used on this single occasion, valued at some- 
what more than forty dollars. How could this be accounted for ? 
All were surprized and somewhat angry, but the avaricious, dishonest 
treasurer, Judas, became absolutely indignant, and, indirectly, at 
least, reproached his Lord with extravagance. See, Christian sisters, 
the possibility of your most decided acts of dcvotedness to Christ 
being misunderstood. Judas especially, and all the disciples in part, 
were incapable of forming a just estimate of J\lary's feelings. They 
knew not how fit an emblem that precious perfume was of the grati- 
tude of her heart, which w^as ready to break witli intense holy love 
for the blessings He had conferred on her. They could not read, as 
(;ould their Great Master, how fully, not only the ointment, but every 
power and emotion of her soul were given to him. 

Mary spoke not. She very wisely left all her defence to Jesus, 
wlio, she knew, read her soul, and could if he thousj^ht proper, testify 
to the purity of her motives and conduct. Slu^ \vas aware, as w(»ll 
as they, that sticli conduct had uvvvv before bi\-ii shown on the part 



THE ACCEPTED OFFERING. lOl 



of woman, even to the mightiest king or conqueror. But then no 
such man had ever before been seen on earth, none of the sons of 
men had ever such power to move the soul, to forgive sin, to give 
the beginning of heaven on earth, and to conduct his followers to its 
eternal jovs hereafter. No precedent could guide her conduct on 
this occasion, but the ingenuity of holy love could devise a plan in 
which that love could be made manifest, and which she was quite 
willing should be misunderstood and misrepresented by others, pro- 
vided only that the object of her supreme love was pleased. ! with 
what anxiety would she look and wait to know how he approved or 
rejected her offering. 

She had not to wait long. The gentle look he gave her, and the 
tone of the commencement of his reply to Judas and the others, 
assured her heart that all was right. He knew how near was his 
burial, when it was customary to show respect for the dead by anoint- 
ing the body, he knew too that Mary, and others of the same name 
and character would be miraculously prevented from doing what they 
would intend, and particularly spoke of this act in reference to his 
funeral, a fact occurring but once, and therefore not possible in any 
considerable degree, to injure the poor. Moreover, there is an im- 
plied censure on their interference in this matter. It is the duty of 
every follower of Christ to show his love to his Lord, but no fellow- 
disciple has a right to dictate the manner in which it should be done. 
If we have money, who shall tell how much of it, or in what parti- 
cular manner it shall advance his glory. This woman spent her 
forty dollars to show her love to Christ, in a different manner than 
her brethren would have dictated, but her Lord approved, and 
rebuked their wrong. 

But we are most of all struck with the fact that our blessed Lord 
has stamped immortality on this act, and appointed that "where- 
soever this gospel shall be preached in the whole world, there also 
this, that this woman hath done, shall be told for a memorial of her." 
And wherefore did he make this arrangement ? Assuredly he would im- 
press on the community of every succeeding age the grand truth, that 
nothing is so powerful to move and elevate the soul as Christianity ; 
and, moreover, that no teacher of philosophy or religion has ever 
proved so ready to receive the homage of woman, and to place her 
on a level with man as he himself. These are doctrines we would wish 
to see fully wrought out, but have not now either time or space for 



102 



SABBATH MUSINGS. 



the work. We are not disposed to place tlie Jewish women in a de- 
irraded state, but rather consider them the most dignified in the 
vrorld to this day ; but Christ brought woman still nearer to moral 
greatness and happiness ; and if one class of mankind owes more to 
the gospel than another, and is under greater obligations to extend 
it, it is woman. Well, Christian sisters, may you labor as you do for 
your Lord and Redeemer, for you owe him much, yea, your own- 
selves also. Emulate your elder sisters in the church of Christ, and 
give to him yourselves, your children, your wealth, your labors, your 
all ; and like the beloved Mary, you shall find that what is given in 
fiith, humility, and love is an acceptable offering. 



SABBATH MUSINGS. 



God ! thou all-pervading Spirit ! all wisdom and might are thine. 
The most subtle essence acknowledges thy presence — the minutest ani- 
malcula is full of thee. The ephemera of a summer's noon that enjoys 
for an hour its sunny existence, then passes away forever, owes to 
thee its surprisingly delicate mechanism, its brief vitality. The 
systems on systems of planets and suns which hold on their ceaseless 
circuit through interminable space — the stupendous machinery of 
the universe — is but thy handy-work. Thou art the circumference, 
the centre, the soul of all that is vast and illimitable in power, of all 
that is sublime and incomprehensible in intellect. God ! the righteous 
and holy — the absolute — the Eternal ! God ! the shoreless and 
fathomless ocean of mercy and love ! before thee let cherubim and 
seraphim cast their crowns — let the whole angelic hosts ascribe to 
thee honor and power, and dominion and glory forever — and from 
the recesses of a lowly heart in the deepest vale of humiliation 
let the ransomed sinner say, ' Alleluia to the Lamb who hath bought 
him with his blood — alleluia ! for the Lord God omnipotent reigneth.' 



MATERNAL INFLUENCE AND RESPONSIBILITY. 103 



MATERNAL INFLUENCE AND RESPONSIBILITY. 



IT BEV. JOHN BERG. 



" In childhood's hour I lingered near 
The hallowed seat with listening ear, 
And gentle words that mother would give, 
To fit me to die, and teach me to live." 

It is a grand truth proclaimed by inspiration, and confirmed by a 
close observance of society universally, that "none of us liveth to 
himself;" that mind has a singular and perpetual influence upon 
mind, and character upon character ; that no member of the human 
family, however solitary and isolated, is entirely destitute of power, 
either for good or evil : — that each person living and moving in this 
great world, is the centre of a circle, from which emanates some 
influence, operating it may be noiselessly, yet as certainly as the 
magnet on the needle : and in proportion as his position becomes 
prominent, will such influence, whether salutary or pernicious, be 
increased. If this statement be true with reference to society in 
general, it is specially so, with regard to some relationships and 
affinities in the present state of existence. And amongst these, 
none is so distinctly marked as that of the maternal bond. The tie 
which binds mother to child is so exquisitely tender, and yet so 
strong, that nothing in the material universe can fully and entirely 
illustrate it. Maternal afl'ection is almost omnipotent, and God 
himself has condescended to make use of it, as a figure to express the 
exquisite tenderness, and undying love which he bears to all his 
erring children. Now if a mother's love is so potent towards her 
child, there is also a corresponding power which under God she can 
wield, so as in a great measure not only to mould the character of 
her loved one, but to govern its future destiny, in time, and through- 
out the revolutions of eternity. Perhaps no mother realizes fully 
the whole of the responsibility which attaches itself to the maternal 
relationship, and comparatively few are aware of the amount of 
influence they can exert in the formation of human character. To 



IM MATERNAL IXFLCENCE AND RESPONSIBILITY. 



i!i< 11 specially is tlic a'lmonition applicable "Train up a child in the 
AVi.y he should go; and when he is old, he will not depart froiii \:."' 
A father's influence is great, but a mother's is mighty ; the one luay 
resemble the rough north wind which compels the tall sons of the 
forest to bow their heads, while the other is as the gentle delicious 
zephyr with its enchantment, sweeping over the delicate flowers of 
the garden. The one as the heavy shower deluging the earth, the 
other as the silent fertilizing dew which imperceptibly carries life 
and health to all vegetation. The one as the solemn tones of 
thunder, the other as the aromatic perfume of the violet insinuating 
itself mysteriously where sternness and strength cannot force them- 
selves. Christian mother, there is no teaching like yours, no lessons 
so forcible and indelible as those imparted by you, when accompanied 
by the warm gushings of maternal solicitude and affection. 

In this article, which shall be as brief and concentrated as 
possible, we wish to impress it upon the mind of all mothers who 
are readers of the Garner, that to a very great extent it depends on 
them, what the character of their children shall be. That to them is 
committed a great trust, for which they are responsible to God. 
That on them the eyes of this great Republic are steadily fixed for 
the training of virtuous, enlightened, patriotic sons, and gentle, 
amiable, lovely, and intelligent da,ughters, w^hich shall be an honor 
to their country, and a blessing to the world, when the present 
actors shall have left the stage, and are sleeping in the quiet 
sepulchre. 

There are several departments in the training of a family, over 
which a mother's influence is to be exerted, and which should call 
forth her constant and intense solicitude ; all these however may be 
classed under the three following: Physical health, Mental culture, 
and Piety. 

With regard to the first of these, in expressing a few thoughts and 
suggestions, we do not wish to take the professor's chair of Pathology, 
or to offer any lengthened remarks, but merely to remind mothers 
that it ought to be one of their first concerns to look, vigilantly and 
closely, to the well being of their children in this respect : to study 
the laws of health, and see to it, that no infraction of those laws be 
allowed. For the want of this, many a child is like a delicate 
flower nipped in the bud, and never after able to develops its 
vivacity and strength. In conscciucncc of the neglect of this great 



MATERNAL INFLUENCE AND RESPONSIBILITY. lOa 

duty, many are sickly all through life, and never attain to robust 
health, and therefore their qualification for usefulness is considerably 
diminished. There has unquestionably been much wrong training 
■with regard to physical health ; disobedience to natural laws has 
entailed severe penalties, and as a consequence, many are weak, who 
might have been strong, many are feeble, instead of sturdy, dejected 
and desponding, instead of cheerful and joyous. Oh why should the 
roses so soon fade from the cheeks of so many of the fair daughters 
of America, and why should the fire that kindles in the eye so soon 
become dim, and why should so large a proportion go to the cold 
dark grave ere reaching the meridian of life ? Without going into 
the secret purposes of the Almighty Creator, there must be some 
natural cause which we think is a matter for the serious considera- 
tion of all mothers. How many young ladies are there, who like 
delicate flowers pent up in a hot house, never " sip the morning dew," 
and scarcely ever have one single invigorating breeze of heaven 
waft over them during the day. How many are martyrs to nervous- 
ness and dyspepsia, when they might be healthful and vigorous. 
How many who are the slaves of fashion are destroyed by the 
caprice of that destructive demon. How many permit the damp of 
death to come to them through the thin soles of their shoes. How 
many die when they might have lived. Much has been v/ritten on 
this subject, but it is to be feared after all that mothers are not fully 
alive to their responsibility with regard to this matter. 

It is more however with the intellect and the heart that we have 
to do in this article, yet if the above hints are regarded, some good 
at least may result therefrom. Mental training is an extensive and 
vastly important subject, and has long engaged the attention of the 
most accomplished and sagacious minds. But it ought not to be 
forgotten, that mental training commences in the earliest stages of 
infancy, for " with his mother's milk the young child drinketh 
education." The first and most influential teacher is the mother. 
At that early period 

*' Ilis eye is quick to observe, his memory storeth in secret ; 
His ear is greedy of knowledge and his mind is plastic as soft; wax. 
Beware then that he heareth what is good, that he feedeth not on evil 

maxims, 
For the seeds of first instruction are dropt into the deepest furrows." 



106 MATERNAL INFLUENCE AND RESPONSIBILITY. 

Consider this important truth Christian mother, and fail not to 
take advantage of it. At that interesting time, you can impress the 
susceptible mind of your little ones, as the warm wax is impressed 
by the seal. But remember, that " Truth like medicine must be 
qualified for the weak and infantine," and therefore " In the honied 
waters of infant tales, let them taste the strong wine of truth." 
Like the great Teacher himself, you can convert every thing around 
you into a perpetual source of religious instruction, you can shew 
them the sun shining in the heavens, and then inform them of the 
Sun of righteousness, whose glory fills the earth. You can point to 
the brilliant stars which sparkle in the clear blue sky, and then tell 
them of a brighter star which rose in Bethlehem and set on Calvary. 
You can accompany them to the garden and direct their attention 
to the beautiful blushing roses which difi'use so sweet a fragrance, 
and then speak of the incomparable rose of Sharon. You can 
give them a description of the gems, and precious stones considered 
so costly and valuable, and then refer them to the " pearl of great 
price," more precious and superlatively valuable than all the jewels 
of this world. Oh in this way you can render religious instruction 
simple, attractive, efficient and durable. But forget not that your 
own life must be one grand lesson, or every other will be useless. 
Above all, neglect not to teach them by example, as well as precept, 
how to cultivate the sanctifying habit of secret devotion. 

" Hold the little hands in prayer, teach the weak knees their kneeling. 
Let him see thee speaking to thy God ; he will not forget it afterward: 
When old and grey will he feelingly remember a mother's tender piety. 
And the touching recollection of her prayers shall arrest the strong man in 
his sin." 

One great error into which a mother is apt to fall is that of 
neglecting to exercise sufficient authority over her child in the early 
stages of infancy. We have often seen children in a fair way for 
ruin, by the mistaken kindness of the mother, and by failure in 
this respect. "On the mode in which a child is trained," says Dr. 
Dick " during the first two or three years of its existence, will, in a 
great measure, depend the comforts of its parents, and its own 
lia})pincss during the succeeding periods of its existence. The first 
and most important rule on this subject, and wliich may be considered 



MATERNAL INFLUENCE AND RESPONSIBILITY. 10' 



as the foundation of all the rest, is, that an absolute and entire 
authority over the child, should, as early as possible, be established. 
Bj authority I mean a certain air and ascendant, or such a mode 
of conducting ourselves towards children as shall infallibly secure 
obedience. This authority is to be obtained neither by age nor 
stature — by the tone of the voice nor by threatening language ; but 
by an even, firm, moderate disposition of mind — which is always 
master of itself — which is guided only by reason — and never acts 
under the impulse of mere fancy or angry passion." 

How many great and illustrious men are there, who have ascribed 
the cause of all their distinction, to a mother's judicious training, 
and solicitude in early life. George Washington never would have 
been what he was, but for a mother's wise and skillful training. 
Oh mothers ! how much depends on you : what a potent influence 
can you exert, and what fearful responsibility attaches itself to your 
position in society. It depends greatly on you, whether your home 
shall be a happy one, or desolate and miserable. Whether your 
children shall be virtuous, or vicious, whether your family circle shall 
be the abode of peace and loveliness, or whether it shall be the arena 
of conflict, where ferocious passions mingle and exhibit their fury. 
" It matters little," says Lamartine, " on what story in the street, or 
of what extent in the country, may be the domestic hearth, provided 
that it be the refuge of piety, of integrity, and tender family 
affections, which are there perpetuated. The future fate of the 
child depends not on the house in which he was born. His soul is 
nourished, and grows above all, by the impressions which are left on 
his memory. Our mother's look is a portion of our soul, which 
penetrates into our being through the portals of our eyes. Which 
among us is there, who, on seeing that look again merely in a 
dream or in thought, does not feel a something descending on his 
soul, which soothes its trouble and diffuses serenity around it?" 
" Let your children," says Dr. Hamilton, " feel how fondly you yearn 
towards them, and what a delight it is to you to see and make them 
happy. This affection is a logic which the dullest can understand, 
and it will ensure the swiftest compliance with your wishes. This 
cord of love is of all chains the longest lasting, the most vicious 
cannot break it, and even when you yourself are mouldering in the 
clay it will moor the wayward spirit to your memory, and keep it 
from much sin. And then by the attraction of your own tenderness, 



iJ8 MATERNAL INFLUENCE AND RESPONSIBILITY. 

seek to draw them into the love of God. If your own be the right 
religion, the living God will be your chiefest joy. You will look up 
to Him as your Father and Friend, and will desire to move through 
your dwelling, and travel through the world in the light of his 
constant complacency, and if you have got this length, — if through 
the great atonement you have got unto the peace of God, — there 
will be Bible lessons in all you do, and a living gospel in your gentle 
looks. Your children will perceive that to love God is the true way 
to be happy, and w^hatever else it may accomplish, they will learn to 
associate the religion of Jesus with a dear parent's shining face and 
blameless walk." Who that has read the beautiful picture of a 
happy home, drawn by the fair authoress of "the Pearl of Days," 
has not been charmed with the sublime influence of family religion, 
and the efiScient mental culture of her children by a mother, in 
obscurity, and surrounded with the difficulties attendant on poverty. 
Never can the writer forget the beautiful home he has frequently 
visited of a Christian lady who was a widow. In early life her 
husband, an honored minister of the gospel, was called from the 
toils of earth, to the repose and felicity of heaven, leaving behind 
two noble boys with their mother, who shortly after the solemn 
event, had a little girl added to the number of her responsibilities. 
Xt first and for a little while the youthful and bereaved widow 
bowed her head sorrowfully, though meekly, under the stroke ; like 
some delicate plant on which a fierce and overwhelming tempest had 
spent its fury ; but though cast down she was not destroyed. 
Instead of sinking in despair, with all her energies paralyzed, she 
nerved herself for duty ; with an unshaken confidence in him who is 
the " father of the fatherless, and the husband of the widow." 
Though with exceedingly limited means, she at once sought to 
educate and provide for the children whom God had given her, nor 
did she seek in vain. Means were soon afforded for carrying out her 
plans and intentions. Though stricken and afflicted she still pur- 
sued cheerfully the journey of life, taking care judiciously to train 
up her infantine trio for heaven and God. At the commencement of 
each day that little circle gathered around the family altar, and 
sweeter than the perfumed breath of the morning, rose the incense 
of prayer and praise ; and at the close of the day the evening 
sacrifice was likewise offered. Such a course as might be expected 
secured the divine approbation and smile, and confirmed the truth 



MATERNAL INFLUENCE AND RESPONSIBILITY. 109 

of that consolatary promise contaiQed in the sacred volume." 
"They that trust in the Lord shall not want any good thing.'' 
Two manly boys are now growing up in the fear of the Lord, one 
of them at least exhibiting distinct evidences of true and personal 
religion, and a lovely girl with the sweetness and gentleness of her 
mother, pervading her spirit and gracing all her deportment. Oh 
say not Christian mother, should you be placed in circumstances of 
the greatest difficulty and trial, say not " I cannot exert a salutary 
influence over the children committed to my trust," but see to it 
that you strive to '' bring them up in the nurture and admonition 
of the Lord," and the divine blessing will crown your efforts. And 
when all discipline on earth shall have closed, and life's fever has 
passed away; through distinguishing grace, in a higher and more 
glorious state of being, you shall meet your loved ones perfected ; 
and with transporting joy and gratitude exclaim, " Here am I, 
Father, and the children which thou hast given me." 



" We have a mournful presentiment that many Christian parents 
are sowing the seeds of indulgence and negligence which will bear 
sorrow for themselves and ruin for their offspring. But while 
nothing can relieve fathers and mothers from their responsibility, 
something may be done to alleviate the effects of their folly by a 
thorough system of intellectual and moral training in school. Let 
our teachers remember that character is the first thing, and the 
second thing, and the thing in education. That to read and write 
and cypher is not half as important as to be honest and truthful and 
kind ! Let them regard the school-room as not a " packing house," 
where the memory is to be " crammed" with facts ; or a '' hot 
house," where the mind is to be forced to a sickly precocity — but as 
a nursery, where immortal spirits are to be cultivated for the 
duties of this life, and for the solemnities of eternity. Then much 
would be done toward alleviating and removing this crying evil of 
the day. Teachers, will you think of this ?" 



110 THE SUNSHINE OF HOME. 



THE SUNSHINE OF HOME. 



Alas ! that Mr. Sinclair had so little love for children as chil- 
dren ; that he so little understood the secret springs which move 
the human heart. As it was, he had a sort of consciousness that 
the child was more grieved than angry, and more to be pitied than 
blamed. He did not reflect that the manner of the refusal had 
wounded more than the refusal itself, and so he turned to his news- 
paper again and tried to forget it. 

Mary did not dare to follow Ella, to try and comfort her, and she 
sat mechanically swallowing the food which almost choked her. 

Bridget, the Irish servant, with whom the child was a favorite, 
hearing her cry, stole softly up stairs. Lifting her gently from the 
floor, she held her in her arms, and soothing her, soon drew from 
her the story of her distress. 

-' Och ! darlint, now don't be afther frettin'," said she ; ''it's cross 
enough yer-aunt is, sure, and more's the shame on her, and you a 
poor little orphan like, but Biddy'll look out for ye at Christmas, 
and bring ye home candy and all, only ye mustn't let yer aunt 
know, or she'll take it from ye intirely." 

" Oh, Biddy, you're very kind, but I don't care so much about 
the candy, or seeing the fine things, and the Christmas tree, if 
they'll only love me. I know you love me, and so does Mary, but 
father says, ' Go away child,' when I go to him, and aunt Martha 
scolds me and tells papa how naughty and bad I am, and sometimes 
I don't care if I am naughty, and I want to be dead, and down in 
the ground with my own mamma ;" and she burst into another fit 
of hysterical weeping. 

Bridget kissed the child, and would have escaped to the kitchen, 
for she heard Aunt Martha's tread upon the stairs, but the door 
opened, and the girl stood confronted by her mistress. 

" What are you here for ?" demanded the latter. 

" Sure ma'uin," replied the girl, " T heard Miss EUa crying, and 
stepped up here jist to see if it was hurt or sick she was." 



THE SUNSHINE OF HOME. Ill 



*' Go down to the kitchen and mind your work !" The girl obeyed. 
Two lessons of deception were given poor Ella that night, in the 
ignorant but well-meant kindness of Bridget. 

A smart whipping succeeded Bridget's departure, and the child 
was then sent to bed, with every angry and malignant feeling roused 
to its utmost extent. 

Aunt Martha went down stairs satisfied that she had done her 
duty, and sent Mary up to bed. 

Mr. Sinclair could not utterly forget the occurrence, and it 
opened his eyes to observe other little things, which had hitherto 
passed unnoticed. He observed that the children's obedience, 
though uniform and implicit, was not the obedience of a cheerful 
will, but of fear or harsh and cold restraint. He felt that there 
was a wrong bias somewhere in the government of them, yet he 
knew not how to correct it. They were well clothed and fed, taught 
order, morals, and religion, and that he thought, ought to be enough ; 
he did not see that the sunshine of love, that makes dark places 
light, and rough ones smooth, was wanting for the children ; though 
he felt its want himself, as keenly as the very week wdien his beau- 
tiful Mary had first gone home to the angels. Occasionally he 
brought home a toy or book to the little girls, and they were gladly 
received, but not with such sunny faces as he would have seen, had 
he taken them upon his knees, laid his cheek to theirs, and talked 
lovingly with them of their hopes and disappointments, their plans 
and successes. Weeks and months passed on, and most of the time 
Mr. Sinclair was away from home. 

A change was to oome, for he had seen and loved a gentle young 
being, and was soon to make her his bride. Aunt Martha was 
indignant. '' It was a shameful thing," she said, " for John to for- 
get his wife, and bring home a step-mother to his children ; for who 
would do for them as she had done, and train them up in the way 
they should go ? She'd never stay a day in John's house to be 
under a mistress, a young upstart, she dare say, and she guessed 
John would see the difference when she was gone !" 

He did. It was Christmas week again. A year had rolled by, 
and w^e will look again in Mary and Ella's room. The two little 
girls were kneeling side by side. Mary repeated her prayer in 
solemn, gentle tones. " Mary," said Ella, when the " Amen" was 
spoken, " I'm going to say, * Our Father,' and then I'm going to 



111! THE SUXSIITXE OF HOME. 



thank God for taking away Aunt Martha, and giving us such a 
darling mamma." And she did in her own childish words. 

The door opened in a few minutes, and the "darling mamma" 
entered. She saw the little ones safely and warmly covered, and 
sitting down on the bed-side, she heard them repeat a beautiful 
hymn they had voluntarily learned, and talked to them of the gentle 
and meek Saviour, whose mission and teachings were love. Many 
were the questions asked, and the telling of childish thoughts, 
lovingly listened to, until the conversation turned upon Christmas. 
" What is Christmas for?" "Is it wicked to keep Christmas-day ?" 
" Does Santa Claus truly come down the chimney, and put presents 
in little girls' stockings ?" were eagerly asked, and almost in a 
breath. 

The origin and present observance of Christmas were briefly and 
satisfactorily explained to their eager ears, and the promise made, 
that on Christmas eve they should hang up their clean stockings, 
and in the morning they should find them filled with gifts, though 
Santa Claus would not descend the chimney to bring them. Many 
a good night kiss was exchanged, and then the little ones were left 
to their quiet slumbers^ 

They could scarcely go to sleep on Christmas eve ; and oh, such 
joy as came with the morning, they who have never been harshly 
restricted, and deprived of childish delights, can little imagine. 
Xo Christmas gift, however rare or beautiful, could have carried 
such pleasure to that mother's heart, as the exclamations of joy^ 
which reached her already wakeful ear, in the dim light of that 
Christmas morning. 

And when evening came, and little invited guests played merrily 
with Mary and Ella, in the sitting room, and the parlor door was 
presently thrown open, and the group ushered in, and the Christmas 
tree, with its pendant gifts and colored illuminations, seemed to 
tlieir enchanted senses like a vision of fairy land, the father was 
almost as happy as the children. 

•'How animated Mary has grown," said he; "and how lovely 
Ella looks to night," as his young wife stood beside him. 

" tt does children good to make them happy," she replied. "Love 
and sunshine are as necessary to them, as light and air to plants." 

•' I think Sunday.^ have grown shorter," said Ella, to Mary, one 



LITTLE THINGS. 113 



Sabbath night, not long after ; " they used to be such long, dull 
days, and now I wish Sunday came twice a week instead of once." 

The secret of this lay with the "darling mamma." Beautiful 
illustrated Scriptures on the table, were no longer forbidden fruit ; 
the Sabbath School welcomed them each Sabbath morning, and de- 
lightful books from the library offered them a rich feast ; and when 
evening came, and mamma listened to their prayers, and hymns, and 
talked with them, and told them beautiful and true stories, as they 
lay in their little bed, it was no wonder Ella thought that " Sunday 
would make it seem happier in Heaven." 

There are more homes and families, it is true, where the children 
(like Eli's) are not restrained at all, than where they are restrained 
too much, but there are some even now, where a mistaken sense of 
duty shuts out all the sunshine. Those homes are happiest, where 
most of order and religion reign, directed by the hand of affection. 



LITTLE THINGS. 

Scorn not the slightest word or deed, 

Nor deem it void of power ; 
There^s fruit in each wind-wafted seed, 

Waiting its natal hour. 
A whispered word may touch the heart, 

And call it back to life ; 
A look of love bid sin depart. 

And still unholy strife. 

No act falls fruitless ; none can tell 

How vast its power may be, 
Nor what results enfolded dwell 

Within it silently. 
Work and despair not ; give thy mite, 

Nor care how small it be ; 
God is with all that serve the right. 

The holy, true, and free ! 



114 THE LITTLE GIRL'S DREAM. 



THE LITTLE GIRL'S DREAM. 

BY MRS. LTDIA BAXTER. 

Mother, last night before me, 

Arose, so very near, 
The pearly gates of glory, 

I could the inmates hear. 

And as the saints were passing, 

Clad in " bright array," 
A soft, sweet voice was asking, 

" Will sister come to-day V 

In breathless haste I nearer 
Those glorious portals drew ; 

And then in accents clearer, 
That voice I heard and knew. 

It was my sister Mary, 

Beside an angel fair ; 
She looked like some sweet fairy, 

With roses in her hair. 

A jewelled crown was sparkling. 

Upon her glorious brow ; 
And songs that she was harping, 

Methinks I hear them now. 

Again with loved ones shining, 
A raptured seraph passed ; 

She looked, and said, so smiling, 
" Has sister come at last ?" 

Mother, I longed to fold her 
Within these arras of mine ; 

But soon an angel told her, 
I liad not reached that clime. 

I woke, but oh, how dreary. 
This dull, sad earth did seem; 

I longed to be with Mary, 
Were it but iu a dream. 



rpr' 




MAVF Tin: rOOH ALWAYS WITH VOW. MATH 26.11 



II 



EARLY CULTURE OF CHILDREN. 115 



EARLY CULTURE OF CHILDREN. 

BY G. M. J. 

The truth of the old proverb " That first impressions are the most 
enduring," has been too frequently proved to be disputed. "Train 
up a child in the way he should go," is a law as imperative in the 
19th century, as when first uttered by the lips of the wise man. 
Mothers are the natural executors of this law to their daughters. 
Kothing but the most unavoidable and pressing force of circum- 
stances, should wrench this power from their hands. Who will 
guard with a mother's jealous eye the health, habits, morals, and 
religion of this most delicate part of creation, which is emphatically 
bone of her bone and flesh of her flesh. How often I have been 
pained to see mothers place those delicate plants in the nursery 
with servants, whose tastes, feelings, morals, manners, and language 
are but a little removed from the lower animals of creation ; there 
to receive impressions, and imbibe habits, which will grow with their 
growth, and strengthen with their strength, until like the branches 
of the giant oak, they shall expand and deepen into a shade that 
will forever conceal the parent stock. Then from this unnatural 
nursery, they are transferred into the boarding or public schools, or 
placed under the tuition of strangers, which although far superior 
to the nursery institution, is still wanting in the warm sympathy 
tender and delicate attention, patient and persevering efibrt, and the 
mild and forbearing spirit which are alone the natural product of a 
mother's heart. 

The food, clothing, exercise, and temperaments of children should 
be directed by none but a careful and judicious mother, as the health 
of our daughters is the foundation on which the complete structure 
of this fair edifice is reared. To indulge our children in highly 
seasoned meats, (which the Apostle hints are for man and not for 
children,) is prematurely taxing the stomach with an unnatural load, 
which will oppress and weaken ; while a simple diet of vegetables 
and nicely made bread, seasoned with some light accompaniments, 
would strengthen and invigorate the system. There is still a greater 



116 EARLY CULTURE OF CHILDREN. 

temptation to girls in fruit, cakes, rich paste, and the whole category 
of sweetmeats, which ingenious Frenchmen, and Yankee inventors 
manufacture from a paste of flour and grease, such as might be con- 
demned in the manufacture of merchantable soap ; filled with 
unwashed fruit, and daubed with sugars, painted in all colors from 
poison substances, in everj conceivable device of animals, from 
the stately elephant, down to the creeping insect, and of the beau- 
tiful fruits and flowers, which tempt the eyes and feast the sense. 
Very many of our children are almost toothless, (or better be) than 
to be sufi'ering from the pain of decaying teeth, and foetid breath, 
occasioned by an extravagant use of these delicious poisons, which 
have come to be the accustomed reward to every little favorite, for a 
kiss or pleasant word. If the little one be dressed to walk, or ride, 
she is no sooner on her way than she is accosted by half a dozen 
friends perhaps, who are well freighted in pocket and satchel, not 
with the staff, but the destroyer of life. And then the drapery, 
the fingers, the face and the hat are alike adhesive to each other. 
And if the child have a delicate stomach, loss of appetite ensues, 
there is no relish for the regular meal. 

Then there must be large purchases on holy days. The children 
must greet their stockings full of dogs, cats, birds, biddies, drops, 
sands, mints and juleps. There must now be a sufficient stock pro- 
vided for the consumption of months until the next holy days, in 
addition to the daily donations of friends. 

With these clogs upon the life-springs of our children, is it sur- 
prising that they are feeble, sickly, susceptible to bowel complaints, 
nervous temperament, nausea, headache, dyspepsia, fevers, rheu- 
matisms and gout ? 



" There is an old saying, which was often repeated to me in my 
youth: ^Can do is easily carried about with you.' And really I 
think it amounts to a duty to attend to this saying ; for we hardly 
ever learn to do any thing that we do not find the advantage of at 
some time or otlicr. ^luch may be gained by observation, and a 
•lesirc to learn. iVom whatever source." 



A MOTHERLESS STUDENT. 11 



A MOTHERLESS STUDENT. 

From the midst of an affectionate family circle a young man usually 
departs when he enters college. Home, with its thousand endearing 
associations, is fondly remembered. As the transplanting of a tree, 
or even of a flower, shows hoAV widely the roots have spread in the 
congenial soil from which it has been removed, so does the entrance 
of the young man upon a college life occasion many keen feelings 
of regret at his separation from those so dear to him. He has now 
commenced a new and momentous period of his life. Strangers are 
around him. Friendships will be formed which will influence his 
whole future life. His character for time and eternity is probably 
to be shaped mainly by the few years of his college life. Under 
such circumstances of thrilling interest, how sad is the situation of 
the Motherless Student. The heart of the mother who yearned 
over him and once pillowed him on her breast, is hushed in the 
grave. Others receive the cheering letters from a beloved mother, 
mingling affection and advice, but for him no mother's hand traces 
these glowing words of encouragement. Oh, how important and un- 
speakable in value to the motherless student are the prayers of one 
whose visits were frequent to the throne of grace. Perhaps memory 
recalls distinctly the scene of her departure from earth, so that he 
says : 

I do remember, and will ne'er forget, 

The dying eye ! 

Or perhaps when he was an unconscious babe that praying mother 
was called to her eternal rest, and others have told him, of the 
scene, so beautifully described in Pollok's Course of Time : 

She made a sign 
To bring her babe — 'twas brought, and by her placed. 
She looked upon its face, that neither smiled 
Nor wept, nor knew who gazed upon't ; and laid 
Her hand upon its little breast, and sought 
For it, with look that seemed to penetrate 
The heavens, unutterable blessings, such 



118 THE MOTHERLESS STUDENT. 

As God to dying parents only granted, 

For infants left behind them in the world. 

" God keep my child !" we heard her say, and heard 

No more. The Angel of the Covenant 

Was come, and, faithful to his promise, stood 

Prepared to walk with her through death's dark vale. 

And now her eyes grew bright, and brighter still, 

Too bright for ours to look upon, suffused 

With many tears, and closed without a cloud. 

They set as sets the morning star, which goes 

Not down behind the darkened west, nor hides 

Obscured among the tempests of the sky, 

But melts away into the light of heaven. 

The memory of such a mother is a treasure incalculable. 

Pious Mothers ! the main object of this article is to awaken in 
your hearts a spirit of prayer for the motherless students, and es- 
pecially for those who are the unconverted children of pious 
mothers who have fallen asleep in Jesus. Perhaps that mother was 
a regular attendant at the female prayer-meeting and at the 
monthly meetings of the Maternal Society. Hereafter your son 
may be in this class, when your lips may be closed in death. Feel 
for the children of others as you will wish that praying mothers 
should feel for yours, in such circumstances. 

The Annual Concert of Prayer for our Colleges and Academies 
on the last Thursday of February has just passed, and many peti- 
tions ascended in one column of supplication. Several of those, who 
were converted in the same college revival with myself, were like 
the writer, without a mother. Prayers which had long remained 
unanswered were accomplished, and then we could feel like David 
in reference to one whom he could not call back but to whom he ex- 
pected soon to go. Oh, what a meeting will that be, at the feet of 
Jesus, when the son who was impenitent when his mother's last 
prayer was uttered, but was afterwards awakened and renewed, 
shall see his sainted mother, and hear her exclaim, with rapturous 
joy, "Here am I and the children whom thou hast given me!" 
Thanks be unto God for the legacy of a mother's prayers, the daily 
incentive of a departed mother's example, and the hope, through 
unmerited grace, of a meeting in glory ! 

Granville. 



THE TABLE-CLOTH. 119 



THE TABLE-CLOTH. 

Lucy, I do not know any thing about Object Lessons. Mamma, 
what are they for ? 

Mamma. First, — To teach you to observe minutely. More than 
half the knowledge which men possess, they get by carefully noticing 
things. 

W. That is easy ; we are to use our eyes, I suppose. 

M. Yes, and other organs also ; you do not observe sounds with 
your eyes. 

TT. No ; I use my ears. 

M. And how do you notice diiFerent scents ? 

W. I observe them with my nose. 

M. And the diiferences in taste — between the taste of milk, and 
milk and water, for instance ? 

W. I find that out with my tongue. 

M, And if you want to know whether your plate is hot or cold? 

W. I can tell that by feeling. 

M. So you have several organs to observe with. 

W. Yes ; organs for seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, and 
feeling, — there are fivj. 

M. They are called the five senses. These senses are, all day 
long, bringing some knowledge or other to your mind. The Object 
Lessons will lead you to use them more carefully and slowly, — and 
afterwards to form words for expressing your observations with 
exactness. 

In the course of time you will learn many things. You will have 
to look at two or three objects together, — and to notice in what 
they are alike and in what they differ — to compare them as we say. 
Then you will learn to find out the reason why they differ — to reflect ; 
and when you can observe, compare, and reflect carefully, you shall 
learn to arrange your objects in classes. 

W. Oh, I do not understand that at all, mamma ! Please where 
is an object to begin with ? 

M. There are plenty of objects every where. Here on the break- 



120 THE TABLE-CLOTH. 



fast table is a good stock of lessons. The piece of bread and but- 
ter jou are eating — you have never noticed it half enough. 

L. And the milk, and egg. 

M. Yes ; we will talk about the bread, butter, sugar, milk, the egg, 
the salt, coffee, papa's cocoa, the boiling water, bacon, knife and fork, 
plate, tea-cup, spoon, coffee-pot, the table-cloth, and the mats : one 
object every Thursday morning at breakfast-time. 

We shall not have time for a long lesson now — suppose we begin 
with the table-cloth. Now, Willie — take great notice with your 
eyes, and tell me all its parts. 

W. My eyes tell me it has no parts at all ; — it is one large piece. 

M, Then you must have very bad eyes, Willie — look again. 

Ion, Here is the corner of the cloth in my lap. This is one 
part, is it not ? The table-cloth has corners. 

M. Quite right. Ion. Now, move your finger from that corner 
to Lucy's corner, without taking it off the cloth, and you will find 
that it may travel to her in four directions. 

Ion. I can move my finger along this edge, or the other — in two 
directions. 

W. That is another part— the edge. The cloth has corners and 
edges — two parts. 

Ion. Or, instead of going round the edges, I may move my finger 
across the face of the cloth to Lucy. 

M. Do not say " the cloth's face^'' say surface. Your finger 
may travel in another way across the nnder surface — that will 
make four directions. 

W. Ah, then, the cloth has four parts — the edges, corners, upper 
surface, and under surface. And I see another ! In what part is 
the urn placed ? 

Ada. In the middle ; that is another part. 

L. Here is another part, which I made myself — the " hem" 
round it. 

Ion. And then you made some stitches, they must be parts of 
the cloth. 

31. So they are. 

Ada. I see some flowers marked all over it. 

W. But they are not parts. 

L. I think the flowers on it must be called parts, because if the 
cloth had not any patterns on it, it would be a sheet. 



THE TABLE-CLOTH. 121 



W. Very well. It has a border — that is a part. 

Ion. Oh ! oh ! I am so pleased. I have found thousands of 
parts all at once. Look ! — while I pull out some in this place, where 
it is *' unravelled." They are little threads, or " ravellings." 

M. They are called fibres properly. 

Ion. Where do the fibres come from, mamma ? 

M, They grow in the fields. In Yorkshire, Ireland, and Flan- 
ders, you may see fields covered with plants, bearing a pretty blue 
flower : they are called Jlax plants. After the flowers are dead, 
the plants are pulled up. The seeds are then beaten out; the 
stalks are soaked in water, and dried, and beaten, and combed, and 
bleached, and so on, until they become bundles of fibres fit to make 
into a table-cloth. 

L. What is done with the seeds ? 

M. They are sold to the cheniists, and others, and are called 
linseed. 

W. So my linseed-tea, and the table-cloth, came from the same 
plant. 

L. And the linseed-oil which Jane rubs the furniture with. 

M. Goods made from the flax-plant are called "linen" goods. 
They are manufactured in Leeds, Dundee, Dunfermline, and the 
north of Ireland. You may look for these places on the map. 
Come, Willie, try if your eyes are any better now. Can you tell 
me the parts of the table-cloth ? 

W. Yes, mamma, I can see them now. May I make up the 
lesson about it ? 

Object Lesson No. 1. — The Table-Cloth. 

(1) Our Table-cloth is a piece of linen with four edges— four 
corners — an Under Surface^ Upper Surface — Middle, Hcm^ 
Stitches, Pattern, Border, and Fibres. 

(2) The liyien is procured from the stalk of the flax plant, which 
is grown in Y^'orkshire, Ireland, Flanders, &c. 

(3) Table-cloths, are made at Leeds, Dundee, Dunfermline, ^c. 

Pleasant Pages for Young People. 



122 home's bright star. 



HOME'S BRIGHT STAB 

A CORRESPONDENT of the Knickerbocker thus writes : — " Though 
helpless and dependent, a little child has enough brightness in his 
ejes and gaiety in his prattle to fill a household with joy. When 
he awakes first at the 'peep of day,' and imprints kisses on his 
parents' lips, their fragrance is sweeter than that of the morn. 
The music of his voice is like the song of birds at the approach of 
light ; his smile more sunny than the first entrance of sunbeams 
into the room. His little arm-chair on high stilts, is scrupulously 
placed when the fast is broken, and he is no unimportant member at 
the family board. During the day, how pleasant the pattering of 
his feet on the stair-case, his voice in the court-yard, his frequent 
bursting into the room with some new tale ! At night he kneels 
down whitely clad, as before some holy altar, at his mother's knees, 
and his little prayer goes straight to heaven from a child's heart. 
" Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings, Thou hast ordained 
praise." Not unfrequent, when he sleeps, are the mother's pilgrim- 
ages to his couch, while under his long lashes and sealed-up lids, the 
spirit of a cherub seems to dwell. But 0, if God, in His wise 
providence, should change that repose into the sleep of death, and 
the white flowers are placed upon his breast, in his little clasped 
hands, the tears which sparkle on his brow are bright, but perhaps 
the bitterest ever shed. Dear little C. is dead ! I remember the 
last time I saw him was on a beautiful evening in autumn. We all 
sat in the summer-house. The moon arose, and the stars twinkled, 
and were reflected in the waves which beat below the clifl*s. The 
child looked up to the brightest star of all, and said ; 

* Twinkle, twinkle, little star, 
How I wonder what you are, 
Up above the world so high. 
Like a diamond in the sky !' 

His seemed like a prophetic voice. But a few moons have waned, 
and little C. is now a star in heaven. Before he died, he sang the 
very strains which had delighted him, and he now sleeps in peace 
near the river's brink, where in spring-time the flowers shall bloom 
a])ove him which he so much loved, and where they will not cease to 
bo watered by a parent's tears." How many a bereaved heart wiU 
be tou^*^""^ 1>^' *-^''-- ' 



IS THIS TRULY A PRIVILEGED AGE FOR CHILDREN? 12-^ 



IS THIS TRULY A PRIVILEGED AGE FOR CHILDREN? 

It is a question worthy of the careful consideration of parents 
and guardians, whether the wonderful facilities for gaining informa- 
tion by sight-seeing and story-reading which our age affords, are 
indeed a blessing to the rising generation. The pages of the Jour- 
nal have claimed our sympathy for the suffering infant who is hur- 
ried from its dear, quiet nursery, the charming wonders of which it 
had just begun to explore, and, distressed with dressing and tossing, 
and fearfully bewildered with glaring sights and distracting sounds, 
is enduring the process of having its tiny faculties stretched far 
beyond their natural development — and, might not our juvenile com- 
munity with equal propriety send forth the cry for commiseration 
and reHef ? Nature," they might say, "leads us by gentle, gradual 
steps, and gives us opportunity really to study, enjoy, and improve 
its blessings, but art, and fashion, and modern improvements confuse, 
and dazzle, and excite us, while they afford but little benefit." 

Yet if they do not realize the disadvantages under which they 
labor, we who watch over them must raise our voice in their behalf. 

It is said children love variety. This is true, but let us remember 
that their minds cannot yet take an extensive range. The sweet 
scenes of domestic life, the school, the neighborhood companionship, 
the small, and well-read library, all these, enjoyed with the fresh and 
buoyant spirits of childhood, afford constant and suflScient variety. 
Leave children to this natural, simple course of life, and they will 
find for themselves just the variety they need. Exciting changes, and 
diversified and far-fetched amusements need not be sought for those 
whose nature is full of merriment and glee. Observe, too, that they 
know nothing of satiety in their simple amusements, although they 
love change. Kite time does not last the year round ; but is it 
because this play has become stale and worn out ? no, it must 
give place to the skate, and sled, and these in turn to the ball, and 
by and by with what zest is the kite resumed. This dictate of 
nature affords a hint which may be successfully followed with regard 
to books, and all methods of useful instruction. Let us not suppose 
a child will wish to read a good book but once. Preserve it care- 
fully, and at some future time present it afresh, and see with what 



12i IS THIS TRULY A PRIVILEaED AGE FOR CHILDREN ? 

delight he will welcome it as an old friend, and how the second read 
ing will surpass the first in interest. Present again, and again the 
precious Bible stories, and see how the juvenile mind will continue to 
draw nectar from their sacred blossoms. While the unfolding powers 
require to a certain extent change, and variety, they require also 
repetition. " Line upon line, precept upon precept," is a maxim 
founded on the nature of the mind. Now if its love of variety is 
indulged to excess, while its need of toilsome, patient application 
is lost sight of, its growth will be distorted and unnatural. This 
must be the tendency of the habits and customs peculiar to our age. 
All sorts of superficial and gay attractions produce excitement, and 
disincline to quiet, patient study. " How much have children to 
amuse them that we never dreamed of!" exclaimed the parent ; but, 
the father, who whittled out his own little boat, and adjusted its 
mast and sail by his own skill, enjoyed a pleasure far superior to 
that of the child who receives from the shop a toy of the most exqui- 
site workmanship ; and, in addition to the pleasure, he derived real 
benefit from the exercise of his faculties. The mantua maker of 
former years who told me that she "learned her trade in her baby 
house," must have found real delight, as well as profit in this gradual 
development of her ingenuity. 

Another, and most serious objection to these modern improve- 
ments, including especially the frequent visiting of panoramas, muse- 
ums, menageries, &c., &c., is the share which they contribute towards 
rendering children pert, disrespectful, and self-conceited. How gla- 
ring a fault is this in the manners of the rising generation ! They 
have been every where, and seen every thing, as the lecturers, and 
exhibitors, as well as their flattering little books tell them, and they 
must knoiv every thing. Surely, if they can teach their parents and 
grandparents, by describing what they have seen and heard, the 
deference due to elders and superiors, will seem to them of little con- 
sequence. 

While alluding thus to some of the disadvantages attending our 
improvements, we do it by way of caution. That which, sparingly 
and judiciously used may be of service, freely used may be deleteri- 
ous, and we would so direct and restrain children and youth with 
regard to amusements and instruction, as to allow the exciting 
scenes and rapid changes of our day to contribute but a small share 
towards the formation of their character 

L. L. H. 



ALICE Raymond's security. 125 



ALICE RAYMOND'S SECURITY. 

BY MRS. EMILY JUDSON. 

Long sat the young mother musingly; and thus her passing 
thoughts were fashioned. 

Yes, I have a little green-house, it is true — a dear, precious deposi- 
tory of exquisite blossoms, whose sunshine is my smile, whose refresh- 
ing dew my love, and over whose present beauty and future develop- 
ment, a soiled finger, nay, even the breath that parts my lips, as I 
bend above them, has strange power. The blossoms are not really 
mine — they are lent me by a Friend dearer to me than my very life ; 
to whom indeed I owe that life, and a million other benefits. They 
are lent me, and in a few years will be reclaimed. In the meantime 
what shall I do for my blossoms, and to please my Benefactor ? 
Shall I follow the example of my cousin Hester, and labor day and 
night, to add conservatory to conservatory for their sakes, or to 
accumulate mountains of rich mould in which to crush and smother 
them ? Oh no ; while bustling at these vain things my tender 
little blossoms would miss my eye, and droop for lack of their accus- 
tomed sunshine. I have seen some sister florists by way of gratify- 
ing a glad, strong feeling at their hearts, besmear the simple little 
crocks with gaudy colours, and really the pretty things, so painted, 
made a beautiful, brave show. But I am very cowardly about my 
blossoms. I have a thousand flutterings and doubts, and inexplica- 
ble misgivings ; and it has been somewhere whispered me that there 
is a poison in those fine colors, which the delicate plant cannot fail 
to imbibe. 

Then there is Annie Deans, with her three graceful rose-trees. 
Nothing will satisfy her lively fancy, but to trick out the boughs 
with gay ribands, and threads of silver, and bits of gilded stufis, all 
arranged in bows and loops, and stars, and streamers, and then call- 
ing on every passer-by to admire her handicraft. This may do for 
Annie Deans' roses ; though I think even they would be more beau- 
tiful without ; but my blossoms are less queenly, and their slender 



126 ALICE Raymond's security. 

stems would scarcely bear such decorations. Besides, when the Ownei 
comes, I well know He will strip the whole away ; and then if He 
should find a stem distorted, or a leaf mildewed, or a worm hidden 
under my tawdry adornments, what matter of sorrow will it be to me ! 
And what if, by some such poor contrivances, I should ruin one of 
these fair blossoms, so that it must be " cast out as a branch that is 
withered ?" Then what am I to do ? I am ignorant, and weak, 
and foolish. Turn I this way, I err from neglect — that way, from 
over-culture. Scarcely two florists are of the same opinion ; and, 
if they were, each of my tender, priceless blossoms has some peculi- 
arity for which there can be no rule. It is a solemn, sacred thing 
— this charge of mine — and my very soul grows tremulous with awe 
as I think upon it. How watchful should be my eye ! how gentle 
my touch ! how faithful my pruning ! I will not grasp at vanities, 
and so soil my hands ; I will not mingle my voice with the loud 
tones of the world, and so bear the seeds of its scorching fever in 
my breath ; I will never cheat my blossoms of the sunshine and the 
balmy dew, while I have lip to smile or heart to love ; but what 
security have I against some fatal mistake that may mar their love- 
liness forever, and shut them out from the celestial gardens. 

And so Alice Raymond mused on and on ; till at length the cloud 
was lifted, and a look of serene, elevated confidence irradiated her 
face. Then softly she glided to her knees, and raised her white 
forehead with a new-born trust, to the Owner of her blossoms. She 
had found the Security. 



To an aflilicted mother, at the grave of her dead child, it was 
said, " There was once a shepherd, whose tender care was over his 
flock day and night. One slieep would neither hear his voice nor 
follow him ; so he took up her little lamb in his arms, and then the 
sheep came after him." 



A mother's trust. 12 1 



A MOTHER'S TRUST. 

BY MRS. A. M. EDMOND. 

Mother, in whoso fond embrace 

Life's holiest jewels are ! 
Light in thy heart the lamp of grace, 

And shed its beams afar. 

Pray for a wisdom all divine 

To aid thy sacred trust ; 
That thou and they may rise and shine 

When dust returns to dust. 

Be to the treasures of thy soul 

A watchful warden thou ; 
From passion^s storm, and sin's control, 

Seek grace to shield thee now. 

Lo ! the bright gems bestowed on thee 

Are lent, but never given. 
And the same hand whose gifts they be 

Will gather them for Heaven. 

When his celestial diadem 
The Lord of life shall wear, 

What sorrow if one cherished gem 
Of thine be wanting there ! 

In thy Redeemer's might believe 
To purge thy gold from dross ; 

And let each precious stone receive 
A lustre from the Cross. 

What though awhile thy treasures fair. 

The rust of earth o'ercast. 
Have faith, the gems of holy care, 

God will restore at last. 

Toil on ; but not for narrow time 

That toil alone shall be, 
Behold the bliss of lives sublime, 

mother ! waits on thee ! 



128 CHRIST IN HUMAN FLESH. 



CHEIST IN HUMAN FLESH. 

Christ not only became man, but it behooved him to be made like 
us in all things. He suffered, being tempted. In the manger at 
Bethlehem, there lay a perfect infant, but there also was Jehovah. 
That mysterious being who rode on an ass's colt, and wept over 
Jerusalem, was as much a man as you are, and as much God as the 
Father is. The tears he shed were human tears, yet the love of 
Jehovah swelled below his mantle. That pale being that hung 
quivering on the cross was indeed man, it was human blood that 
flowed from his wounds, but he was as truly God. He was the only 
one in human form of whom it can be said. He was holy, harmless, 
undefiled, and separate from sinners ; the only one on whom God 
could look down from heaven and say. This is my beloved Son in 
whom I am well pleased. Every member of our body and faculty 
of our mind we have used as the servants of sin. Every member of 
his body and faculty of his mind were used only as servants to holi- 
ness. His mouth was the only human mouth from which none but 
gracious words ever proceeded. His eye was the only human eye 
that never shot forth flames of pride, or envy, or lust. His hand 
was the only human hand that never was stretched forth but in 
doing good. His heart was the only human heart that was not 
deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked. When Satan 
came to him, he found nothing in him. Now, in these two things it 
behooved him to be unlike his brethren, or he could not have been a 
Saviour at all. In all other things it behooved him to be made like 
us. There was no part of our condition that he did not humble 
himself unto. 

He passed through all the terms of our life from childhood to 
manhood. He was an infant of days, exposed to all the pains and 
dangers of infancy. "Ye shall find the babe, wrapped in swaddling 
clothes, lying in a manger." He bore the trials and pains of boy- 
hood. Many a one, no doubt, would wonder at the holy boy in the 
carjx^nter's shop at Nazareth. He grew in wisdom, and in stature, 
and in favor with dod and man. He bore the afflictions and anxie- 
tit\- of manhood, •when lie began to bo about thirty years of age. 



CHRIST EN HUM AX FLESH. 129 



He tasted the difficulties of many situations in life. The nrst 
thirty years, it is probable, he shared the humble occupation of 
Joseph the carpenter ; he tasted the trials of working for his daily 
bread. Then he subsisted on the kindness of others. Certain 
Tvomen, which followed him, ministered unto him of their substance. 
He had not where to lay his head. Many a night he spent on the 
Mount of Olives, or on the hills of Galilee. Then, he bore the trials 
of a gospel minister. He preached from morning till night, and yet 
with how small success ; so that lie could say, '' I have labored in 
vain, I have spent my strength for naught and in vain." How 
often he was grieved hy their unbelief ; he marvelled at their unbe- 
lief! " faithless generation ! how long shall I be with you, how 
long shall I suffer you ?" How often he offended many by his 
preaching ! "Many said, this is an hard saying; who can bear it?" 
How his own disciples grieved him by their want of faith ! '' ye 
of little faith, have I been so long time with you !" The unbelief 
of Thomas — their sleeping in the garden — forsaking him and fleeing 
— Peter denying — Judas betraying him ! 

What trials he had from his own family ! Even his own brothers 
did not believe on him, but mocked. The people of his town tried 
to throw* him over the rocks. What pain he suffered from his 
mother, when he saw the sword piercing her fond heart ! Now he 
said to John, "Behold thy mother!" and to his mother, "Behold 
thy son !" even in the midst of his dying agonies. 

What trials from Satan ! Believers complain of Satan, but they 
never felt his power as Christ did. What an awful conflict was 
that during forty days in the wilderness ! How fearfully did Satan 
urge on Pharisees, and Herod, and Judas, to torment him ! What 
an awful hour was that, when he said, " This is your hour, and the 
power of darkness!" What an awful cry was that, " Save me from 
the lion's mouth !" when he felt his soul in the very jaws of Satan ! 

What trials from God ! Believers often groan under the hidings 
of God's countenance, but ah ! they seldom taste even a drop of 
what Christ drank. What dreadful agony was that in Gethsemane, 
when the blood gushed through the pores ! How dreadful was that 
frown of God on the cross, when he cried, "My God, my God!" 
In all these things, and a thousand more, he was made like unto 
his brethren. He came into our place. Through eternity we shall 
study these sufferings. — McClu^ync. 

9 



loO THE CHRISTIAN FAMILY IN ITS RELATIONS TO THE CHURCH. 



THE CHraSTIAN FAMILY IN ITS KELATIONS TO THE CHURCH. 

There are few subjects of more importance than tlie proper 
discipline and education of children. The chHd will soon be the man — 
the infants of the cradle will soon constitute society — the little folks 
of the nursery will soon be the great folks of the world. The present 
generation of rulers, statesmen, and legislators ; of ministers and 
men of every rank and standing must soon pass away, giving place 
to a new world springing, as it were, from our ashes, to whom our 
responsibilities and unfinished work must be committed. 

Thus it has been with all past generations, and thus it will be to 
the end of time. The world of human beings decays and dies, and 
revives and lives like the departing and returning seasons. Infancy 
soon gives place to childhood — childhood to manhood — manhood to 
old age — old age to death. In this way the race perpetua'tes itself, 
and the stream of human beings, of intellectual life, of moral respon- 
sibility, of social relation, of domestic affinity — flows on ; alternating 
and changing ever — a perpetual death — a perpetual life ; a universal 
resurrection, springing ever from a universal mortality. • 

Children are emphatically bone of our bone, flesh of our flesh; 
and in a higher and deeper sense than is generally apprehended, 
spirit of our spirit. The parent lives in the child, and, to a greater 
or less extent, leaves the impress of his entire character upon him. 
So of society at large — so of the world. Barbarism leaves to the 
world, barbarism ; Paganism, paganism ; Mahometanism, Mahomet- 
anism ; Catholicism, Catholicism ; and it would be strange if the 
Bible, in harmony with what evidently appears to be a universal law 
did not anticipate that a pure Christianity and a pure church, would so 
transfuse its spirit, and form its own, and so reproduce itself in each 
succeeding generation as to leave its heritage also to the world, of a 
pure Christianity and a pure church ; diff'using like leaven its influence 
on every side, till the whole mass of society shall have been pene- 
trated and sanctified thereby, and the world thus be brought under 
the renovating power of the gospel. If a Pagan parentage secures 
invariably a pagan offspring, why sliould it be tliouglit a tiling in- 
credible, much less as associnted with the provisions and promises of 
the gospel. iiiipt>s>ible that a Christian piirentage should secure a 



THE CHRISTIAN FAMILY IN ITS RELATIONS TO THE CHURCH. 131 



Christian offspring; that the children of the faithful should, in due 
time, become heirs of the faith according to the promise ; the children 
of believing parents, the children of the church ; and thus be real- 
ized the great scriptural idea of the church ; the household of faith. 
If through the family, depravity pour down from generation to 
generation, and from age to age its dark and turbid waters to 
desolate and curse the world, why should not Christianity, also, 
through the same channels be expected to pour down its living waters 
to vivify and bless the world ? If error, falsehood, superstition, and 
sin of every form, are sown, cultivated, and garnered chiefly, at 
the least most fruitfully, upon the soil of domestic affections and 
influence ; why should not these affections and influences be suscepti- 
ble of a kindred fruitfulness when renovated by the power of divine 
grace, and through faith laid open and subjected to the power of 
truth and to the operations of the Spirit of God? In a word, it 
would seem but natural and rational to expect that in the saving 
application of the gospel as a recovering system to the race, God 
would make those relations which have been most deeply and widely 
perverted by Satan for the ruin of man, the channels of his own 
invincible influence for the salvation of the same. And what in the 
light of reason would seem thus appropriate and in a certain sense 
necessary in the light of a peremptory revelation, is fully confirmed 
and made obligatory. 

Parents are commanded as Christian parents, and as parents in 
their relation to the chui'ch, to subject their families to a Christian 
culture and discipline, " to bring them up in the nurture and admo- 
nition of the Lord." Thus the Christian family in its relation to 
the Christian church, is definitely recognized, and a specific respon- 
sibility and work devolved thereon. To ascertain this work, and the 
extent and limitations of its responsibilities will be the object of this 
and a few succeeding articles. 

A. G. P. 



1B2 



THE TEACHINGS OF JESUS. 




THE TEACHINGS OF JESUS. 

Matt. xiii. 2. 

The waters of Gennesaret reposed in stillness. The sun as it 
arose higher and still higher over the mountains which form it? 
eastern shore, shone upon its clear bosom, from which was reflected 
the image of each overhanging tree and crag. Far away to tlie 
west stretched the plain of Tiberias, and in the distance rose the 
mountain of Saphct. A multitude had gathered about the Naza- 
rene for he had just restored the withered hand, and cast out the 
dumb and blind spirit. Though the Scribes and Tharisees derided 
and charged him with being in league with Satan, they followed still 
to hear his words and witness his miracles. 

The blessed Saviour! how meekly he bore all the indignities of 
the Jews, and with what patience he met the unbelief of the multi- 
tude who seemed to press about him from idle curiosity. How intent 



THE TEACHINGS OF JESUS. 



133 



upon their salvation! His own ease and pleasure were forgotten, 
while "he yet talked with the people," and declared in the hearing 
of all, that "whosoever shall do the will of my Father, who is 
in Heaven, the same is my brother, and sister, and mother." As the 
throng pressed upon him he entered into a ship, that he might more 
easily be seen and heard by all ; and there to those gathered on the 
shore, he dispensed the word of life. He seized upon illustrations 
which could be readily understood, for there was the fertile plain 
covered with waving grain. There was the open road by which the 
travellers and fishermen came and went from the lake. There were 
the barren mountain cliffs, among whose seams and fissures the noon- 
day sun was withering the few shoots which the rains and dews had 
caused to vegetate. He uttered that impressive parable of the sower 
and the seed; and as if to make them feel how momentous the con- 
sequences of their hardness and unfruitfulness, he "spake another 
parable unto them," of the tares and the wheat. And then to show 
them the certain triumph of his doctrine notwithstanding their unbe- 
lief, he pointed to the spreading trees among whose branches the 
birds had built their nests, which had grown from the minutest seeds, 
and said thus shall my kingdom spread. And as his eye rested 
upon some humble women of Galilee, who had followed in the train, 
he said "The kingdom of heaven is like unto leaven which a woman 
took and hid in three measures of meal till the whole was leavened." 
How simple, and yet how impressive are the teachings of Jesus ! 
What an example he left for his followers ! No opportunity for 
imparting instruction was lost. No sin committed before his eye 
that was unreproved; no grief but shared his sympathy; no peti- 
tion for forgiveness of sin or relief from physical suffering, but 
gained his ear. He loved the sacred solitude of the mountain's side, 
but shunned not the bustling crowd if he could heal their sick or 
raise their dead. He loved the retirement of the humble family at 
Bethany, but as readily hastened to the ruler's house, when an oppor- 
tunity offered to do him good ; and scrupled not to be the guest of 
a man that was a sinner. When faint and weary he refused to eat, 
because he could, at that time, speak words of life to a Samaritan 
woman. His heart of love burst forth in blessings on the little 
children which were brought to him, and yearned with affection 
for the young man, who earnestly inquired "what he must do to 
inherit eternal life." 



134 earth's angels. 



Wliat a different scene would this world present if all the disciples 
of Jesus followed in his footsteps ! To glorj in such a Lord, to 
boast of his labors of love, his midnight prayers, his self-denials and 
his death, is a vastly different thing from exemplifying all these in 
the daily life and conversation. How many children might be won 
to Christ if parents followed His example ! How many young men 
might be induced to give up all their vain delights and airy dreams 
and be made partakers of a heavenly inheritance ! How many Mary 
Magdalenes might be reclaimed from sin, and be made through 
grace, to shine as stars in the kingdom of Heaven forever ! 

Mrs. M. G. Clarke. 



EARTH'S ANGELS. 

We Tcnow that there are angels in the far off Heaven, 
The sinless home of spirits pure and blest, — 

Where all the faint and weary, all the heavy laden, 
May meet in mansions of eternal rest. 

And offc we fancy that some seraph holy, 

Is hov'ring o'er us on the wings of love. 
Breathing rich blessings on the meek and lowly, 

In accents that are only learned above. 

The silvery, light and fleeting clouds of summer. 
Seem to our eyes as angels' pinions bright ; 

The night-wind's sigh, the gentle zephyr's murmur, 
Like whispered music from the world of light. 

But as we journey on through clouds and sunshine, 
While cares and sorrows gather thick and fist. 

We find loved guardian angels on the shores of time, 
Who strew bright blossoms in our thorny path. 

Yes ! earth lias angels ! though in mortal's fragile form, 
Living a space to bless the world and die, — 

Who seek to cheer the sorrowing, comfort those that mourn, 
Having their home in realms beyond the sky I 



MAY MORNING. 



135 




Away in the morning the merry young group, 
O'er the hills and the valleys are hieing ; 

The early May flowers, to pluck from the bowers, 
As over the rocks they are flying. 

The sun o'er the hill tops is darting his rays ; 

In the dew drops how richly they're gleaming. 
! the sweet May-day morning, the lovely spring days, 

Thrice welcome your glorious beaming. 



Ye tell of a day in the bright land away,. 

Where the flowers are all blooming forever 
Of a sun that shall rise in perennial skies, 

And of pleasures that fade away — never. 



136 WHAT A iMOTIIER SHOULD TEACH. 



WHAT A MOTHER SHOULD TEACH. 

I AM aware there is a diversity of opinion upon this, as weU 
as upon most subjects : that while some would restrict her within 
the narrow bounds of domestic duties, others would give her the 
whole circle of the sciences, and of moral and intellectual instruc- 
tion. In my opinion neither are right. Too much may be at- 
tempted in one case — too little in another ; and in both, the true 
and legitimate duty of the mother be left untouched. 

In the first place, one word as to what teaching is. Children may 
have both precept and example, and yet be untaught. There is 
something more necessary than the mere word, or even the spirit. 
There must be the fixing of the principle in the heart. It must be 
made a part of itself, to grow with its growth, and strengthen with 
its strength. The fixing, then, of right principles of action in 
every relation of life belongs to the mother. If she do this faith- 
fully and truly, she has accomplished her mission. 

It is a deplorable fact, that many men whom the world calls great, 
and even good, are not fit for domestic society. Why is this ? 
Why is it that men grow to adult age — morose — tyrannical — selfish ? 
It seems there must be a defect somewhere, if men manifest the 
same low propensities as in infancy, for cradle sweetmeats. 

A just regard for the feelings and rights of others should very 
early be enforced upon children. A true mother cannot shut her 
eyes upon the fact that her child can do wrong. On the contrary 
she will have ample proof that the little being she loves so well, is 
possessed of the same bad passions and controlling sins as others. 
Happy, if she have in any good degree cliecked the natural impulse 
to do wrong, and brought it within the power of the child to rule him- 
self accordingly. Self-control, above all other things should be en- 
forced constantly, unyieldingly. There is no hope, in my opinion, of 
a child, Avho cannot in some way be induced to exercise self-control 
Coercion may do for the time being; but who is to stand by your 
child, mother, when you are not present — when he or she takes liis 
or her stand in the world alone, with temptations on every hand ? 



WHAT A MOTHER SHOULD TEACH. 137 

Self-denial should be enforced very early, so that the child may 
grow up in the habit of it, and it is emphatically the mother's 
duty to effect it. ISiO apology can alter it — no circumstance enable 
her to throw oflf her responsibility. She may call in aid to its 
accomplishment — but the naked fact stands alone — she must fashion 
her children after the similitude of a palace, or she has failed of her 
duty. Our age calls for men^ noble true-hearted men, who are not 
only prepared to face the storm, but assail the enemy, tear down his 
false standard, and trample it under foot; many such men will be 
needed in the next age, if not in this, to correct the errors of the 
present. Shall they cast the blame on ws, mothers, if they are not 
fitted to their work ? Grown up infants will not do. The present 
is a mushroom age, and one writer declares, " there are no hoys.'' 
So we see infancy has leaped into manhood. Of course the maD 
is but a babe, and we may expect works corresponding thereto. 

Very little things indeed make up the materials with which the 
mother has to work. An accidental word, a look, it may be a ges- 
ture, may call forth all her powers to sift out the little wrong seed, 
which she may discover to be mixed up with what appeared very 
good. I am sorry there are some mothers who talk a great deal 
about this over-nice way, as they are pleased to call it, of dealing with 
children, and think it is not best to notice such small things in 
them. If these very indulgent mothers would just look ahead, and 
tell us how we are to bend the sturdy oak, we will be obliged to 
them. But witli me the case is thus : I am so afraid of the conse- 
quences, if a wrong is suifered to go on unheeded, that perhaps I 
manifest almost rashness in my attempts to eradicate it. A proper 
time, no doubt, should be chosen ; but I can hardly wait for that ; I 
am afraid the plague-spot will spread, and the whole heart, body 
and spirit, be past remedy. 

A word here on the manner of teaching : Coercive measures 
should be very sparingly resorted to, if at all. "But should not the 
child be made to obey?" asks one. Most certainly. But, dear 
mothers, I have tried it, and do believe there is a better way to gain 
the desired end, than by force, or rather what is generally termed 
force. There is a force beyond appeal, in the earnest, determined 
purpose of the praying mother, who constrained herself by the love 
of Christ to present her children blameless and without spot before 
God, which no properly instructed child can withstand. The mother 



188 CARES AND COMFORTS. 



must live at the feet of Christ, not in word only, but in deeJ 
and in truth. The child must early be thrown on his own responsi 
bility, or the truths lodged in his heart will not become strengthened, 
because not brought into action. We do too much for our children 
many times. Their free agency is in us. We confide to them cer- 
tain capital stock, and then go to work ourselves to help them make 
it available, when we ought to have nothing to do with it, but leave 
them to make it serviceable for themselves. No mother has cause 
to be discouraged, who goes constantly to God for aid. If she fail 
in this, all, all is and must be wrong. L. M. B. 



CAKES AND COMFORTS; 



% S^D i») ^'K ILife of ^ GoiTiKbqfoh 

And, by the way, it was a leisure day, — one of the days of a 
week of delightful rest, of which Mrs. Gilbert had promised herself 
the enjoyment, and during which she hoped to be able to string a 
few thoughts, that had long been straying through her mind, for 
the Journal. A week, a whole week's rest was before her! How 
long it seemed ! And yet, for nine years, when these quarterly 
visions had dawned upon her, they had seemed just so long ; but 
when they had passed, she wondered where they had flown. But 
this would be long. IIow much she was to rest, how much she was 
to do, that was better than rest. 

Farewell, shades of Ulysses and Telemachus ! For that classic 
tale told by the most chaste and beautiful writer of that age of 
great writers, is wearisome to the last degree, when a school girl's 
mistranslations and perversions are listened to for the hundredth 
time. Farewell, sweet Picciola, and glowing, impassioned Corinne ; 
for bright-eyed, but unlettered western girls have dropped the cur- 
tain upon your last scenes too many times, to leave a wish for the 
re-appearance of any of your dramatis personas this week. And 
there. La Ilenriadc and Kacinc, go up into that corner of old school 



CARES AFD COMFORTS. 139 

books, and shut your thumbed leaves, and bide your old worn out 
covers, for a week at least, and wben you come forth again next 
Monday morning, do bring us something fresh and new ; for if a 
twice told tale is wearisome, even when well told, what are ye, when 
successive classes have, for nine years, been ringing successive 
changes on your any thing but Parisian French ? 

Thus Mrs. Gilbert disposed of care, and entered upon her week 
of rest. The scene opens upon a Monday morning, but as it was 
quite too stormy to wash, things on the hill that day, followed 
the ordinary course of all other leisure days. 

"Nilcha, have you trimmed the lamps yet?" asked Mrs. Gilbert, 
on entering the kitchen, while the process of doing up the breakfast 
work was going on. 

" No, ma'am, I didn't trim 'em yet ; but stop a minute, Miss 
Gilbert, if you please ; I want to show you my kitchen lamp, that I 
filled with that new oil last night. I never in my life did see such 
stuff as it is. Look," she added, as she held up the lamp, "ma'be 
you'll think I put something else in ; but I didn't, nothing at all, 
it's jest the oil, and I can't stir without it'll go right straight out 
in a minute. What is the matter with it, I wonder. 

"It is corn oil, Nilcha." 

" Corn oil ? what kind o' oil is that, I wonder. I never heard of 
no such oil in Holland nor with the Yankees either before. Miss 
Barnes never used no such oil. Her lamps looked jest as clear as 
if they was filled with water most. These look dreadful, and they 
won't burn, too. I wonder what did make Mr. Gilbert git such." 

" It is cheaper, Nilcha, a good deal cheaper ; and Mrs. C. told 
me the other day that they got along with it very well, and I 
thought we would try a gallon ; but what I came to say, Nilcha, is 
not to fill Mr. Gilbert's study lamp with this oil. He wants a 
good light, and I believe there is a little of the good oil left yet." 

" Yes, ma'am, jest a little that I turned into that old pitcher, 
'cause I wanted the lamp filler for this ; but I might jest as well've 
let it staid in ; for this'll never run through the spout, I know. 
I've jest got to fill the lamps right out o' the can." 

"And grease the floor and waste the oil, of course," thought Mrs. 
Gilbert ; " I wonder how much I shall save by this experiment," 
jind she turned to go into the nursery, but Nilcha called after her, — 



140 CARES AND COMFORTS. 

"Miss Gilbert, if you please, ma'am, I believe you owe me jes 
three dollars to-day, and I should like it to-night, if you please." 

" Well, Nilcha," said Mrs. Gilbert; but as she shut the door, she 
drew a sigh ; here was a call which she had not calculated for till 
the first of next month, when several of her bills which had been 
delayed beyond the time of payment would enable her to meet this. 
About the girl's wages and children's clothing, Mrs. Gilbert never 
troubled her husband. He had calls enough for all the salary real 
and nominal, which one of the teachers (or professors as they were 
called) in a western institution just pressing its way into existence, 
could possibly collect ; even when she, through persevering weari- 
ness, lopped off these two important items in their family expenses. 

Her husband had taken up a newspaper and seated himself by the 
nursery fire ; and w^ith a great deal of apparent enjoyment, he was 
running over its columns. As she passed him, he said, speaking to 
himself rather than to her : — " That's a fine speech — a noble speech. 
Talk about feeling contempt for the author of that !" 

" I wish I could read a noble speech," thought Mrs. Gilbert, " and 
for a moment forget the contempt I feel for this increasing calcula- 
tion of sixpences and pennies." 

She went to her drawer and took up her little purse ; — it was 
very light, — but emptying it she saw that one bank bill still re- 
mained. The sight of this gladdened her, and yet it was only one 
dollar. But counting every dime, half dime, and penny, she made 
out just two dollars. 

As she stood counting with anxious looks, the contents of the 
purse, a little face peeped out from the red borders of a comforter, 
that enveloped head and ears, and applied for relief in a desperate 
case. 

"Mother, mother, can't my 'Guifey's First Reader,' have a 
place in Johnny's new desk that locks ? Say, mother can't it ?" 
Again and again he repeated his petition, but it was not till she 
felt the little mittened hand pulling at her dress, that she gave 
her attention to the child. The matter of the desk was then con- 
sidered, and it was decided that Jimmy and Johnny Gilbert were 
joint stockholders in the new desk that locks, and that the privileges 
of the same must be enjoyed in exact ratio of their respective ages, 
five to nine. 

While this important matter (for who shall say it was not impor- 



CARES AND COMFORTS 141 



tant, since it involved both a principle of right and of fraternal 
regard 1^) was pending, Johnny, tired of waiting, had started off to 
school, Jimmy, therefore, must have an escort down the slippery 
hill. "It will take but a minute," thought Mrs. Gilbert," just to step 
down the hill with him, and thus perhaps I may snatch away this 
apple of discord which the donor of the new desk has so unwittingly 
rolled in between the boys." 

So, tying on her hood, she took the hand of the little one and 
hastened after the fugitive brother. But alas ! she found that the 
cause of discord was not to be snatched away so hastily. It must 
be removed by slow argument and close logic. For Mrs. Gilbert 
saw that her work as a mother was not so much to settle that trifling 
dispute about the new desk, as to uproot a wrong and selfish princi- 
ple from the heart, and implant a right one in its place. And this 
was not the work of a moment. Nevertheless, it was her work and 
must be done, though her first morning was fast waning, and other 
pressing cares awaited her return. Yet when Mrs. Gilbert entered 
the house, she could not resist the temptation to stop a moment 
before the window, to watch the farther efi"ects of her mission. The 
clock ticked on, but she did not heed it. The paper containing that 
noble speech which she had so much wished for time to read, had 
been thrown upon the table just under her eye, but she did not take 
it up ; and even the little purse, emptied of every sixpence and penny 
of change, and yet found wanting by one whole dollar, lay in the 
open drawer before her, just as she had left it ; but she had quite 
forgotten both its emptiness, and Nilcha's demand, which must 
somehow be met. 

The minutes, one, two, three, and even five passed away uncounted, 
as she stood there, with her hood on and her face pressed against 
the glass, peering through the falling snow flakes at some distant 
object. She did not even notice her husband's step as he came in 
from the study. For a picture, as beautiful to her eye as ever a 
painter copied, had fixed her attention, and fully enlisted all the 
fond sympathies of the mother's heart. 

It was the two boys, their little figures delineated upon the side 
of a snow covered hillock, which they were just then climbing on 
their way to school. The dinner and book basket held by a hand 
of each, was swinging between them, and their faces were turned 
lovingly upon each other. One moment little Jimmy was evidently 



142 CARES AXD COMFORTS. 

;i wondering inquirer and Johnny a pleased instructor about the 
mysteries of that old mill towards which he was pointing. And the 
next, the little mittened hand was held out to catch a large feathery 
snow flake as it fell, and then the faces of the two boys bent eagerly 
over the dissolving treasure to watch it as it faded particle by par- 
ticle away. 

'• Gone," she said, unconsciously, as she saw the little hand drop, 
and the suddenly upturned glance of each into the other's face, to 
read the feelings which the faded vision had awakened. " Gone," 
she repeated, mournfully, and the tears filled her eyes to think of 
all the illusive dreams of life by which their young hearts must be 
cheated ; of the plans they would form, and the castles they would 
build, but to see them fade away like that feathery snow flake. 

"What are you gazing at, and what is gone, Emily?" said her 
husband, coming up to the window. 

She started at the sound of his voice, but, pressing the corner of 
her hood into her eyes to clear them of her tears, she answered, 
" It was a beautiful picture — a fair, but prophetic vision, that just 
now passed before me." 

He looked out — "What spy glass you may have had," he said, 
" I do not know, but I see nothing but two very common looking 
boys trudging along to school." 

"Well," said Mrs. Gilbert, laughing, " I suppose mothers are a 
privileged class, though half an hour ago, when I saw you enjoying 
your newspaper so quietly, I was inclined to think quite difl'erently." 

" And what has changed your opinion ?" 

" Why, you see, just then I was called out to settle a little 
dispute that had arisen between the two boys about their new 
desk, and a difficult, wearisome afi*air I found it too, requiring 
a sacrifice of precious time which was to have been pecuharly 
my own. But I succeeded, not only in making them see what 
was right, but in leading them with a hearty good will to do 
it ; and now I perceive that through the medium of that same trou- 
l)lesome dispute I am able to see a really charming picture, where 
you see only two very common looking boys trudging along to 
school. But so it is," she added, " We must have our clouds and 
fogs to teach us the value of sunshine, — our dark, dull, winter days, 
do but make us prize the light and warmtli of summer the more." 

"Well, well," said Mr. Gilbert, "you are ([uite welcome to the 



CARES AND COMFORTS. 143 

exclusive enjoyment of all privileges resulting from settling chil- 
dren's quarrels. I am glad you have time to form charming pictures 
and to look at them ; but the truth is, Emily, I have lifted myself 
blind out here, and nobody comes to my aid. The aifairs of the 
institution, of the church, and of our family, all together, are crush- 
ing me ; I cannot sustain the weight any longer. My life and 
light, such as it is, and it might have made this western darkness 
less dark, must go out at noon, for there is nothing to feed it any 
longer." 

Ah ! care-burdened mother, treasure the remembrance of that 
picture which you saw a moment ago, so beautifully delineated upon 
the hill side. Transfer it to your heart, for ere you are aware, 
darker, gloomier scenes will claim the foreground, and hide all those 
fair outlines, those delicate shadings on which you were gazing with 
such exquisite delight 

What a wonderful thing is human sympathy ! Through its effects 
Mrs. Gilbert also became suddenly blind to all things bright or fair 
in life, and she felt the blood flow back to her heart with a leaden 
weight. Such sudden revulsions of feeling in her husband were 
not new to her ; for Mr. Gilbert was an earnest, active western 
pioneer, and in striving to help every body, and to further every 
new improvement, he had entirely overtaxed himself. His nervous 
system was shattered, and sometimes, by some little jarring vibra- 
tion, it became completely unstrung. Mrs. Gilbert knew all this, 
yet whenever she saw the cloud of care gather so suddenly and so 
darkly upon his face, she fancied that it cretainly was, in some 
respects, darker and more ominous than any that had betokened 
preceding storms. 

"Why, what new trouble now?" she asked. 

" There's nothing new," he said, " but the thought of so much to 
do and to bear, without time for the one or strength for the other, 
distracts me." 

" Do you remember the fable of the old clock ?" 

" Yes, but it don't meet my case, I must tick faster than quarter 
seconds, and it requires more than two hands to point to all the 
times which I must be ready to meet." 

Mrs. Gilbert hesitated ; she had had some plans of her own for 
that Aveek. But what are a woman s plans, in the shadow of those 
great edifices which men are rearing? 



144 CARES AND COMFORTS. 

"My bricks and mortar were all prepared," thought she, "but it 
is perhaps no matter whose building thej go into. Can I do any 
thing to help you ?" she asked. 

" Yes, there's a dozen letters that ought to be answered this very 
day — three, that must be. This drudger}^ of writing wearies me to 
death ; I'm nervous, I can't Avrite. If you could write for me one 
hour ; copy the report of that committee on education, and this 
petition for our new charter, and just answer these three letters ; 
short, I can tell you in a word what to say, — it would be one burden 
oflf my hands." 

Just then a bell rung. " Is it possible ?" he exclaimed, " I must 
be gone ; but here — these letters. To this, you know what to say. 
I can't go of course ; but answer it civilly — politely ; yes, and 
add a word about that young man for whom he inquires, about our 
church and institution, that we are faint but pursuing, &c. The 
others, read them and you will know what to say. The report and 
petition, an exact copy. Write the letters first, stamp them, and 
send them to the cars, for the mail will be closed. Good bye !" and 
he shut the door after him. 

*' I always did hate copying," said Mrs. Gilbert, as she sat down 
to her work of an hour. " What matter which building the bricks 
go into?" whispered a voice from within. "But mine would have 
been pleasanter work," she parleyed. 

" But not half so useful, perhaps," was whispered in return. 

" I think, however, I had some very useful hints to communicate 
in what I intended to write for the Journal ; they certainly are the 
result of experience." 

" Charity begins at home," returned the same provoking monitor. 

" I'll silence that cant," thought Mrs. Gilbert, and she scratched 
on, making as heavy marks as she could, and at the end of tlie 
letter, almost deceiving herself by her own masculine, business-like 
hand. She held it up and looked at it with real pleasure. " They 
never will think that a woman wrote that, I know," she said; "so 
there will be no flaw to pick on that score." 

And, somehow, Mrs. Gilbert felt uncommonly well pleased with all 
the letters she wrote that morning. She had never thought she was 
a good writer before, but these certainly seemed very fairly written. 
Did she know why ? No ; but then it Avas quite a satisfying con- 
clusion to which she had come ; — '' that it really was no matter 



"l WILL CALL TO REMEMBRANCE MY SONG IN THE NIGHT." 145 

which building the bricks went into." If her husband had known 
the complacency with which she looked upon the work of her hands, 
he would probably have remarked as before : " w^hat spy-glass y(>u 
may have had, I am sure I don't know, but to my eye your d'$ 
are all a's, and your w's, n's yet." 

It is a beautiful arrangement in woman's lot, a sweet compensa- 
tion for the petty, trivial cares with which her sphere of labor 
abounds, that through the medium of self-sacrifice, the most com^ 
men things often assume the forms of beauty. For this same self- 
sacrifice is like the kaleidoscope with which children amuse them- 
selves, and which changes broken bits of glass, old beads, and 
worthless tinsel shreds into beautiful pictures, on which they gaze 
with delight. 



I WILL CALL TO EEMEMBRANCE MY SONG IN THE NIGHT." 

Oh God ! when this heart would look forward with fear 
To scenes of bereavement, of sorrow, and blight, 

Instead of o'erclouding my days with such care, 
" I will call to remembrance my song in the night. 

When I think of the loved, of the cherished now here. 
And feel the sad warning — they're passing from sight, 

I turn to the past — and its memories cheer. 

For " I call to remembrance my song in the night." 

That dark night of trouble, of anguish, of woe, 
Whose shadows fell heavy on prospects so bright ; 

When the tempest swept o'er me and laid my hopes low : 
Aye ! e'en in that hour rose a " song in the night." 

Soft notes of submission, of heaven-born peace. 

That a spirit so weak, should be strengthened with might 

To yield up its treasures — to bid murmurs cease, 
And raise, though heart-broken, a " song in that night." 

I remember with gladness, Thou o'er art the same ; 

Our Strength in all weakness, in darkness, our Light, 
'Tis Thou who hast given — all praise to Thy Name — 

The sweet song of triumph in affliction's dark night. 



10 



146 SYMPATHY. 



SYMPATHY. 

BY LAURA LINWOOD, 

" Sympathy is lacking from the guilty such as we." 

Have you not felt this ? Have you not seen the time when one 
word of kindly sympathy, one approving smile would have been 
dearer than all earthly treasures ? Have you not sometimes when 
worn by toil, discoui-aged by disappointment, and almost ready to 
sink beneath your heart's heavy load, felt how dear would be some 
kindly spirit, to share your sorrows ? Or perhaps w^hen your heait 
was ready to burst with gladness, how sweet it would be to impart 
your joys? And as you turned from one to another in search of 
that your soul yearned after, and met with nothing but coldness and 
repulse, have you not felt that the very springs of life were sealing 
up ? At such times has not your soul been filled with grief, so keen 
and bitter, that it w^ould have been sweet to lay you down, beneath 
the cold valley clod, that your soul might rest in a kindlier clime ? 
It was just that you should grieve. " When God Himself com- 
plained, it was that none regarded." 

Will you deprive others of that which you have coveted yourself? 
Will you stand cold as an iceberg in arctic seas, to wreck the hearts 
of life's voyagers, and freeze the warm out-gushing soul ? Are you 
willing that your friends — that the children of your love should feel 
the bitter pangs which you have felt ; and that the better feelings 
should famish and die ? If not, study the soul and its wants. 
While you seek, with anxious care, to provide for the bodily wants 
of your little ones, neglect not the equally pressing necessities of 
the soul. Tell them of heavenly and divine things, and the only 
balm for every wounded spirit. Open your ow^n heart to share their 
joys and sorrows. Because you have become accustomed to earth's 
chilling winds, do not neglect the sensitive plant by your side, — do 
not allow the cold blast to lay it low, when you can shelter it within 
your own ombrncc. True your child must one day learn the world's 
hearllcs.-nc'ss by bitter e.\])ei icncc ; l)iit iirst strciigtlien and })re})ar<.' 



SYMPATHY. 147 



the heart for it. Life will have little enough of cheer, if you strive 
to make childhood's days sunny. And when for the first time the 
painful truth, that man's fallen nature, disposes him to be fickle, 
ungrateful, unkind and deceitful, is thrust upon the young heart, 
and it lies low, torn and bleeding, do not pass by on the other side, 
but pour into the wounded breast the oil and wine. 

If the countenance is sad, do not disregard it, and deem the 
causes that made it so, trifles ; for an unkind word, a neglect, an 
unjust suspicion is to some hearts as heavy a trial, as a severe cala- 
mity is to others. And if you succeed in making the sad heart 
joyous, it is no small thing ; for one has said that " he that maketh 
a child happy for an hour is a co-worker with God." Can you ask 
more exalted employment ? 

Not only strive to exercise this feeling yourself, but cultivate the 
principle in the hearts of your children. It was planted there for 
noble, holy purposes, and while you are careful not to destroy it by 
uncongenial influences, strive to bring it into active exercise. If 
you would have them like Jesus " go about doing good," cultivate in 
their hearts the principle that actuated our Saviour. Point them to 
the Holy One, sympathizing with the sisters of dead Lazarus, and 
mingling his tears with theirs ; and encourage them likewise to go 
and comfort the sorrowing. Teach them to frequent the sick-bed, 
and there speak those gentle, soothing words that render afliiction 
half welcome ; for it is better to some to have bodily aflSiction with 
the kind attentions and sympathies of beloved friends, than health 
and prosperity attended by unkindness, or cold indifference. Teach 
them to point the widow and the fatherless to Him who has promised 
to be their God and Father. To direct the burdened soul just sink- 
ing in despair to Jesus, who has said " Come unto me all ye that 
labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest." By so doing, 
you will shed the light of happiness around them, and create within 
their own breasts a never failing fountain of joy. 



" He knoweth our frame. He remembereth that we are but dust." 
" Who though he was rich, for our sakes became poor, that we 
through his poverty might be made rich." — Bible. 



148 CLOTHING FOR GIRLS. 



CLOTHING FOR GIRLS. 

In our variable climate, exposed as we are to sudden and extreme 
changes of weather, our children should be protected, by warm and 
comfortable clothing. It should be made to cover the entire body ; and 
not merely, by placing a number of folds about the waist, in such a 
manner as to represent a spread eagle already soaring away ; while 
the neck and limbs are left without covering, because a state of nudity 
has become pleasing to modern taste; thus subjecting the little 
sufferer to colds, coughs, asthmas, rheumatisms, and croups, and many 
times to premature death. It is painful to see mothers, (who ten- 
derly love their daughters,) by this wicked practice bring the 
deepest sorrow upon their own heads, notwithstanding all their 
efforts to shield a guilty conscience under the cloak of Providence. 

I knew a charming little girl in an eastern state, who was the only 
child of her mother, and she was a widow. Her husband, and son, 
had long since found a grave in the deep blue sea. No gratification 
whatever was withheld from this last, this idolized child. She was 
a child of song. The tones of her sweet voice penetrated even the 
bluntest sensibilities. The mother's heart vibrated to the tender 
tones of her darling child, and she rejoiced that the time was so near 
when others beside herself, would appreciate alike her talents and 
her beauty. It was a cold bleak night in February, when our 
village was all astir with the excitement of preparation for a singing 
school concert. Our little girl was to take a prominent part in the 
exercises, and she must be attired in a manner, becoming her posi- 
tion and talents. She was disrobed of the coarser for the lighter 
material. Her warmer garments were exchanged for the gossamer 
wings ; that if possible, she might be taken for some etherial being. 
Though the winds were rude, and the night dark and cold, and all 
the elements of nature seemed clashing in furious combat, the mother 
permitted her little daughter to leave her warm fire-side, and go forth 
to test the texture of her skin against the coldest northern blast. She 
reached the hall shivering with cold, but slio soon rallied, and entered 
into the cxercise.^5 of the evening with the ardor and enthusiasm of 



CLOTHING FOR GIRLS. 149 



childhood. Her delighted mother gazed, and listened in breathless 
admiration. Her costume was a la Paris. None so short or light 
as hers. Her arms and ancles so exquisitely rounded, her neck of 
such an alabaster whiteness, her shoulders of the finest Grecian 
mould, and all so gracefully exposed. All seemed spell bound, at 
the charm of such original and heaven tuned melody, as she uncon- 
sciously poured forth her warbling strains. But her notes (we fain 
would hope) were tuned for angel bands, and as if already inspired, 
the key note echoed its last farewell to all below. She returned 
home wearied and excited. The chilly winds seemed to whet their 
swords anew for their defenceless victim. They pierced her tender 
and unprotected frame, and all torn and lacerated, by their merciless 
darts, she arrived home and threw herself upon her bed. But rest 
was not there. Her frame was quivering with the still biting effects 
of the keen atmosphere. Sweet little songster ! The bright glim- 
merings of a life so precious are going out. Fever ensues, her brain 
is reeling, she sings, she laughs, she raves, she entreats her mother 
to cover her from the piercing cold. The physician hastens to her 
bed-side, but all is lost ! no hope ! a few hours of suffering that 
would rend the hardest heart, and all of that life so dear, so much 
needed to cheer and support the declining years of this heart-broken 
mother, has gone out. And think ye not that mother brought 
anguish of spirit to her own heart ? 

The custom of aping what is foreign instead of adhering to our 
conviction of what is practicable and fitting, and adapted to our 
climate and circumstances, often brings us into a distressing and ludi- 
crous condition. The fashions of Paris, and of the stage, illy become 
the practical daughters, on the mountains and in the valleys, on the 
hills and in the dales, of New England's rock and ice bound coast. 
Among the villages that skirt our western lakes and rivers, and dot 
our broad prairies, or of the Green, and White mountains, where old 
Boreas whistles and pipes, bellows and raves, as he is striving to 
rival nature in artificial mountains of snow. Some mornings after 
his merriest antics, may be seen a hundred little girls, on their way 
to school, dressed more like little actresses from a London or Paris 
stage, than the daughters of our Pilgrim mothers, who clad them- 
selves in their own home-spun linen and wool, and wexe hale and 
vigorous both in body and mind. 

! shade of Martha Washington I What would she think to see 



150 ON THE CONVERSION OF LITTLE CHILDREN. 



the physical training of our children ? — to meet a group of these 
skirtless little gypsies, tripping through drifts of snow, and buffetting 
the piercing winds ! How she would have toiled at the loom and 
wheel, to have prevented the soldiers of the Revolution from such a 
pantless misfortune. 

And the loss of delicacy likewise who can estimate ! that modesty 
which was the glory of our American mothers ! and which we should 
cherish with an American pride ! It is not indeed, fitting that we 
should thus barter away, what we have so long cherished, for the 
sake of aping the shameless fashions of the present day, or abuse 
and unsex our daughters by transporting the vices, and unnatural 
customs of other countries. Let our clothing be such as health and 
comfort require, and let us seek, rather, that adorning of the mind 
which is so justly and admirably portrayed by the pen of Inspira- 
tion. G. M. J. 



ON THE CONVERSION OF LITTLE CHILDREN. 

It cannot be questioned, that individuals who are permitted to 
pass the period of early youth without having given evidence of a 
regeneration of soul by the Holy Ghost, have very many chances 
against their ultimate conversion and salvation. This is especially 
true of the rougher sex. Launched so soon upon the busy tide of 
business or professional life — invested with so many and with so 
rapidly multiplying responsibilities as they are ; the body, and soon 
the intellect even, perhaps the heart itself, become engrossed with 
the routine of daily returning cares, and hopes, and projects of 
temporal existence ; until, in many — aye — most cases, the care of 
the soul is postponed to that indefinite future which comes never, 
except in imagination. With the other sex the case is the same in 
kind, though diff'cring in degree. The circumstances of their edu- 
cation too, are more favorable to the development of the heavenly 
gift. Reared from the earliest years under the constant watchful- 
ness of a praying mother, and with the feeling of dependence on a 
stronger arm, which constitutes so endearing a characteristic of 



ON THE CONVERSION OF LITTLE CHILDREN. 151 

woman ; it is not difficult ere she has been separated from the 
privacy of home, to lead her warm, youthful affections to fasten 
themselves upon her blest Redeemer. If, however, this most impor- 
tant duty of a parent have been neglected, the terrible fruits of 
that neglect will soon, upon her assuming the responsibilities of 
married life, be apparent in the increasing worldliness and irreligion 
of its victim. It is too often the case, as has been justly remarked, 
that pious parents look for the conversion of their children when 
arrived at the age of discretion, as a matter of course. But experi- 
ence proves the contrary. Oh ! then — how important to train the 
tender vine upon the rod and staff of Christ's gospel, and mould it 
to the image of the parent stock. And fear not, fond mother — pray 
and labor untiringly — "for in due season you shall reap, if you 
faint not." 

The writer well remembers the indefatigable efforts of a praying 
mother, in his childhood's days, to implant in his heart principles, 
not only of morality and rectitude, but also of vital piety. From 
the earliest period of his recollection, he was wont as she had taught 
him, to desire and pray for " a new heart." He was made aware 
that unless God gave him a new heart, he could never go to heaven. 
Often did he long ardently, that he might be so blest as to obtain 
"a new heart" — and once, going to his widowed and beloved 
parent, he threw himself into her arms, saying, " Oh ! mamma, I am 
afraid I shall lose my soul." Like many other Christian mothers, 
she probably thought her little boy (then about five years of age) 
incapable of receiving the gospel in the understanding and spirit. 
At all events, she but advised him to " read «the 51st Psalm, and to 
pray for a new heart." He remained in considerable anxiety for 
several days, frequently retiring to his closet, for prayer and read- 
ing the Bible. The daily occurrences of life, however, soon rendered 
him as buoyant in spirits as a natural thoughtfulness of disposition, 
in connection with the restrictions of his careful parent, would per- 
mit. Oh, how vividly do these recollections come up before his 
mind ! Oh, if any kind messenger of heaven had at that time pointed 
him, in a clear and simple style to " the Lamb of God that taketh 
away the sins of the world" — if such a gem of a little book as " The 
Way for a Child to be Saved," had been put into his hand, what 
years of neglect of duty to God — what days and nights of mental 
disquiet, might have been spared him ! But, perhaps, his history 



152 ON THE CONVERSION OF LITTLE CHILDREN. 



may prove the means, under God, of inducing some pious niotlier, 
to acquaint herself with the principles of God's plan of saving 
sinners through Jesus Christ, and to watch, with solicitude and 
care, the dawn of the Spirit's light, ready to seize the auspicious 
moment, to lead the affections and faith of the precious immortals 
committed to her care, to fasten themselves on Him who hath died 
to redeem them. Should this be the case, he can pronounce a most 
heartfelt amen to the providence which excluded from him this 
needed assistance. Indeed, his heart even now warms with grati- 
tude to God, that ever He blessed him with a praying mother. 

In a recent number of the '• Sunday School Journal," an account 
was given of a little boy of four or five years old, who died happy 
in the prospect of an eternity at God's right hand. The editor, in 
commenting upon it, says, " How can we account for the conver- 
sion, at so tender an age, of so many children as we constantly learn 
are renewed in soul by the Holy Spirit, and have died in the triumph 
of faith?" 

The perusal of this paragraph revived in the recollection of the 
writer, the long-forgotten facts just related, with great force. He 
also recurred with intense interest to the experience of a few months 
subsequent to their occurrence. The summer season of the year 
approached — and with it came frequent and violent thunder-storms. 
On one occasion, during a terrific storm he was much alarmed, and 
it seemed to him that God was about to destroy him. He fell trem- 
blingly upon his knees, besought the Almighty to spare him, and 
vowed to obey and serve Him with all his heart. The tempest 
ceased, and at the same time his anxiety departed. A few days 
after, another severe storm occurred. He thought of his violated 
promises — he renewed them, fully determined to perform them. He 
endeavored during the week to do so — another appalling conflict 
of the elements took place — he felt that God was speaking to him 
— but he was calm and even joyful ; for he felt that he was under 
the protection of his heavenly Father. He afterward delighted to 
serve God and to love Him, until the circumstances of that period 
are rendered indistinct to memory, in those of his later history ; but 
his godly and endeared parent refers with confidence to it, as the 
time when his heart was regenerated and reunited, by faith to his 
Maker. May God grant them the joy of meeting, in the heavenly 
company who " have washed their robes and made them white in 



THE DOVE. lo3 



the blood of the Lamb" — logether with multitudes of prayii^g 
mothers and their ransomed children ; in that day when the Lord 
shall make up his jewels ! 



J. C. M 



THE DOVE. Gen. viii. IL 

Sin the world has overspread, 

Like the Deluge in its wrath ; 
Every vale and mountain head 

Tells of the Destroyer's path. 

And must thou go forth, my child, 

Into such a world as this ? 
By its treacherous face beguiled — 

Swallowed in its dark abyss ? 

"Wind of Heaven ! arise and sweep, 

Svreep, unseen by mortal eye. 
O'er the surface of the Deep, 

Till the Flood of Sin be dry! 

Dovelike Spirit of our God ! 

Come, and all my fears shall cease ; 
O'er the swift abating flood, 

Bring the olive branch of Peace. 

Bid a Parentis tearful eye 

Look on yonder brightening bow. 

Cheering token from on high, 
Of God's covenant here below ! 

J. N. B. 



154 THE PROPOSED JOURNEY. 



THE PROPOSED JOURNEY. 



"Brother," said little Maria Burton, "father is going to New 
Hampshire this week, and I asked mother if I might go with him, 
and she did not say no. I think I shall go." 

" You go with him," said Henry. " I do not think you will, 
because it is my turn." 

" Why, Henry ! I never took a journey with father in my life !" 

" You went to ride with him, sister, the other day, and went to Mr. 
Seldon's and Dr. Bentley's, and Esq. Somebody's, and had a real 
good time. Don't you remember what a fine story you told me ?" 

" Yes, brother, but that was not taking a journey." 

" What is the difi'erence ? You visited, and had a ride with 
father." 

" But if I take a journey I shall ride all day, and sister says I 
shall see the White mountains which are almost up to the clouds." 

" Well, I should like to see the mountains, and I ought to see 
them first, because I am older than you." 

Maria knew not what to say next, so she made no reply ; but 
left the room to seek ner mother, who could decide the question 
between her and her brother. 

Some children would never think of taking a journey with their 
father, because he always travels in haste, by car, stage, or steam- 
boat, and cannot take charge of a child ; but Mr. B. rode in his own 
carriage, and was seldom in haste ; he loved the society of his chil- 
dren, and manifested towards them so much of tender love, and 
patient care, that even the little ones knew no dearer friend, no 
pleasanter companion than " father." 

It was decided that Maria should take the journey, and the next 
morning was the time to start. All that day her sister Emeline was 
very busy in fitting and putting up her things to be gone from home 
at least two weeks, and Maria was no less busy in watching her, 
and skipping about to fetch, and carry, and make all the help in her 



THE PROPOSED JOURNEY. 



power. She could think and speak of nothing but the journey. 
When her father came in at night, she ran to meet him saying, 
" Please go in my room, father, and see all about my things." Her 
father smiled as he gave her his hand, and said, " I suppose my little 
daughter, who is now old enough to take a journey with father, will 
not need much assistance in taking care of her clothes.' 

'' no, father, but mother said she would like to have you know, 
and then you will remind me if I forget — but I shan't forget ; and, 
besides, I want you to see how nice, and how good sister Emmy is. 
She has put every thing in the right place — and I shall keep them 
just so — and she has put in my beautiful New Testament that 
you gave me, and only think, father, she made a little flannel case 
for it, just to keep it nice." 

" That gives me great pleasure. You know father loves neatness 
and order, and especially does he desire to have his children pre- 
serve and study the word of God." 

As Maria retired to rest that night, she placed the clothes in 
which she was to be dressed for the journey, beside her bed, *' for," 
said she, "we shall go directly after breakfast, and I had better be 
all ready." 

"But, sister," said Emeline, " you will not go if it rains, and 
father says it looks very much like it. If I were you, I would 
not think of going to-morrow, and then if it does not rain you 
will have a happy disappointment, and if it does you will not feel 
very unhappy." 

But Maria had a very different feeling. It seemed to her if 
every thing were perfectly ready she certainly should go, and so 
instead of trying to make herself contented to wait if it should be 
necessary, she tried only to feel sure that she should not be detained. 
With these thoughts she fell asleep, and when she awoke in the 
morning and found it raining violently, she was prepared for a 
hearty cry. Had she taken her sister's advice she would have been 
much less disappointed ; but she was a little girl, and had a great 
deal to learn before she could be as wise, and prudent as Emeline 
was. 

The rainy day passed rather heavily with Maria, and she was very 
glad when Henry, looking from the window, said, " We are going to 
have company, a stranger is coming into the yard." 

The gentleman entered, and Mr. Burton shook hands with him 



lo6 

very heartily, saying, " I am glad to see you sir. It is a long time 
since you have called on us.' 

Maria had never seen him before, and he appeared to her so pecu 
liar, that she observed him very closely. He was what she thought 
an old man, yet he looked stout and healthy. His hair was bushy, 
and his beard rather long, and his face she thought looked shock- 
ingly, for it was all covered with scars ; and his voice and language 
were very strange. This gentleman's name was Northam. He was 
a German, and therefore did not pronounce our language correctly. 
The scars on his face were caused by the small-pox, which he had 
when young very badly. But we cannot judge of a person's charac- 
ter by looks and manners merely. Mr. N. was a good man, and for 
this Maria's father loved him ; and besides, he had so much learn- 
ing and knowledge that he was a very instructive companion. 



THE DOOH IN THE HEART." 



In reading an interesting sketch with the above title, I was re- 
minded of an incident related to me by a friend. A reckless bro- 
ther had become deranged — he was mild and submissive, and at 
times greatly concerned for his soul, but his memory seemed 
almost a total wreck. Yet there was one door in his heart, which, 
though easily passed by in former years, now opened, even to that 
ruined memory. On that door was written Mother. That mother 
had long since passed away from earth, but he often asked for her, 
and she seemed ever present to his mind. 

A mother's influence who shall tell, when even a dethroned 
memory recalls her image! mother, see to it that, while your 
children's hearts are easily impressed, you stamp upon them, in deep, 
enduring lines, the character you would have them retain through 



BE GENTLE WITH THE CHILDREN. 157 

life and carry up to the judgment seat. They may wander far in 
paths of sin, but a mother's prayers, a mother's teachings, and a 
mother's holy example will rise before them and bar their progress 
to perdition. Human nature is weak and ignorant, and doubtless, 
you often feel incompetent to train your children aright, but re- 
member that you have a Friend who is Strength and Wisdom, and 
who has said, " If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, who 
giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be 
given him." Carry every difficult}^ to the mercy seat, and seek 
constant supplies of grace to enable you to be a faithful, consistent 
mother. Make it the burden of your prayers, the end of all your 
efforts that your children may give their hearts to Christ in early 
childhood, and be permitted to look back from the portals of the 
grave upon a whole life spent in glorifying God : then will it be a 
joy to you throughout eternity that you have been a mother. 

May every mother who reads these pages so live before her chil- 
dren, that her name may be a talisman to protect them from the 
snares of Satan, and a star to guide them in the footsteps to the 
Throne of God ; and that the door of their hearts upon which that 
name is written may be ever open to the life-giving influence of the 
Sun of Righteousness. . E. S. T. 



BE GENTLE WITH THE CHILDREN. 

" Now be quick, Mary, and come right back ; you know what will 
come if you don't !" These words, spoken in no very pleasant tone, 
fell upon my ear, as T passed through the hall to my study. They 
were addressed by Betsy, the house-maid, to a sprightly, but not 
very thoughtful child of seven summers, whom she was sending with 
a message to a farm-house, some quarter of a mile distant. Mary 
set out at once, and taking a seat a moment after, near a window 
which overlooked the road, my eye caught the form of the child, 
bounding away on her errand. 

There is hardly any thing in this cold world, like the feeling with 
which a father regards a bright, affectionate daughter. I doubt 



158 BE GENTLE WITH THE CHILDREN. 

whether the much, and justly eulogized love of a mother, strong as 
it is, is just such a feeling. Prompted by the recollection of what I 
had just heard, or by the dim remembrance of some of my own 
childish experiences, or perhaps by both combined, I determined to 
watch the movements of the little messenger. For the first few 
moments, the memory of the charge which she had received, seemed 
to give energy to the child's purpose, and she skipped along as if 
determined to obey to the letter. But in passing the door of a 
neighbor, something attracted her attention. She paused — then ran 
into the yard, and it was some minutes before she reappeared. 
Again on her way, it was not long before something new arrested 
her steps. It might be the sight of birds, or their music, or the dis- 
covery of the far-famed butterfly, which so many children have 
chased. At all events, it was soon pretty clear that Mary had quite 
forgotten the impressive injunction of the house-keeper. ^'Ah, 
child !" thought I, as I turned from the window, "thou art a type 
of myself, thou art a true representative of thy kind !" 

" Weak and irresolute is man ; 

The purpose of to-day, 
Woven with pains into his plan, 

To-morrow rends away." 

It might have been an hour or more later, when the door of my 
room was somewhat suddenly opened, and Betsey appeared, leading 
the little culprit. " Mary is a very bad girl," she said in an excited 
tone. " I sent her to Mrs. K's. to get some things for her sick 
mother, and she has been gone these two hours, and lost her basket 
besides." So saying, she drew the reluctant child into the room, 
and went away. This introduction to me, then, was one of the 
afore-threatened consequences of disobedience. 

"Mary," said I, "what does this mean?" Mary raised her eyes 
timidly to mine, but said nothing. Her countenance "wore an ex- 
pression of mingled shame, grief, and perplexity. " Come here, 
my child," I continued, " and tell me why you have been so 
naughty." 

"I don't know," she said, after considerable hesitation, "but 
Betsey is so cross to me," and she l)in\st into a passion of tears. 
This was evading the point, and I was about to say with some 



BE GENTLE WITH THE CHILDREN. 159 



severity, '^ but child, you do know, and you must tell me," when the 
thought occurred to me that there was more truth in her answer 
than I was willing to give her credit for. 

A little exercise of kindness and tact on my part, drew from her 
the history of her little expedition. She had been sent away feeling 
that it was quite a relief to be out of sight of her harsh mentor ; 
with no explanation of the necessity of ''being quick" except a 
threat ; and consequently no real respect for the authority which 
sent her. She had stopped to play with the children in the yard, 
from native love to society. She had lingered to watch the birds, 
and listen to their songs, because she loved them, and was curious 
to see their movements. When coming back, she had set down 
her basket to pick some pretty flowers, and then forgotten it. I 
saw how it was, and received a lesson. 

Mary perceived clearly enough the general idea that she had 
done wrong, but could not see where the wrong lay, or how, or why 
she had done it. She had never been taught that it was wrong to 
play, or to love the birds and the flowers, but on the contrary, she 
had learned to think that these things were all right. Her error 
was that she had taken the wrong time to indulge in these innocent 
inclinations. On this point she had received little or no instruction. 
No wonder she could not tell why she had been " so naughty." 
The fault was partly in her instructors, and it was the consciousness 
of something of this kind which made her look so perplexed, and 
led her to say " I don't know." 

This " I don't know" so often taken as an evidence of sullenness 
on the part of children, has more of truth and reason in it, than 
many parents and teachers are aware of. Too often we deal 
with the child, just as if he knew as much and could reason as well 
as ourselves. 

Be just to the children. Be gentle with the childrefi. 

A Father. 



^' Be obeyed when thou commandest : but command not often. 
Let thy carriage be the gentleness of love, not the stern front of 
tyranny. A mild rebuke in the season of calmness is better than 
a rod in the heat of passion. Nevertheless spare not, if thy word 
hath passed for punishment." 



160 THE BEGGAR. 



THE BEGGAR. 



Mother, there is a beggar, 
Beside our mansion door ; 

His face by Time is wrinkled, 
His head is silvered o'er. 

His tattered clothes declare him, 
Of home and friends bereft ; 

Oh ! may I kindly bear him, 
The fragments we have left ? 

Nay son, but bid him enter, 
Methinks I can discern , 

The hand, that once did shelter 
Your mother from the storm. 

'Twas when the snow blew wildly, 
Across the Highland moor 

A lone, lost child, so kindly 
He took to his own door. 

*' Yes Lady," said he, weeping, 
" I then had home and friends ; 

But now my heart is breaking. 
My form with sorrow bends." 

Misfortunes came upon me. 
My children all are gone ! 

And cruel hands have wronged me. 
And grasped my happy home. 

Now I've no roof to shelter 
My locks so white and thin ; 

Anil no fond loving daughter, 
To ki'(?p my ganucnts clean. 



THE EVIL TREE. 161 



Come in sir, said she, smiling, 
Though tears were falling fast ; 

God sent you to ray dwelling, 
ril screen you from the blast. 

You saved a helpless orphan, 
Once on the trackless moor ; 

She lives ! thank heaven, to welcome 
The shepherd to her door. 



THE EVIL TREE. 

In the year 1835 while I was teaching a school at Chetthings- 
ville on the Salwen river, for want of cleanly commodious streets in 
which to take my morning and evening exercise, I used to ramble 
in the adjoining paddy fields. Just as we emerged from the cul.ti- 
vated gardens of the village to the entrance of the paddy fields, 
there stood a noble tree throwing its broad branches over the path, 
as if inviting the passers-by to stop a moment beneath its cooling 
shade. I often took out my knitting or sewing, (for having been 
brought up in New England I had abjured neither) and sat for half 
an hour or so after school, waiting for the sun to sink behind an 
enormous pile (mountain we called it) of limestone rocks, just on 
the western bank of the river. One day as I sat knitting, I 
observed that a seed had fallen in the fork of the tree, about seven 
feet from the root, and had vegetated. It sent up a beautiful little 
tuft, and was shooting its thread-like roots downward. It was then 
so small that I could have plucked it up with my thumb and finger ; 
but I felt an interest in the little shrub, such as I rarely ever felt in 
one I had not planted myself. I watched it from day to day. It 
belonged to the Peepul tribe, and grew very rapidly, deriving all 
its nourishment from the old tree. 

The next year I visited the village, and took the earliest opportu- 
nity to visit my little tree. But how it had grown I It was shoot- 

11 



162 THE EVIL TREE. 



ing its roots downward and making a complete network over the 
bark of the old tree. Its top was some four feet high — its trunk 
measuring two inches in diameter, and its graceful poplar-like 
leaves quivering in the gentle breeze. I frequently stopped to 
observe how its thread-like roots were not only weaving a net-work, 
but uniting in a mass so as to completely conceal the parent tree. 
As I was in a great measure ignorant of the flora of the country, 
many were my conjectures about the future destinies of the two 
trees. 

About this time I had occasion to go up the country higher than 
we had ever been before. In order to make the most of our visit, 
we separated and visited diiFerent villages, promising to meet a^ain 
at the boat. On my return I found but a part of the company. 
While waiting for the return of the rest, we walked back and forth 
on the sandy beach. A slight fall of rain compelled us either to 
return to our cramped up boats or flee to the jungle for shelter. We 
chose the latter. As I was standing under a large tree waiting for 
the cessation of the shower, I began to observe the trees around me, 
and particularly the one under which we stood. A Karen observed 
me, and said, "This is the Devil's tree." ''Why," said I, "it 
looks fair." "Yes," he said, "it looks fair; but it is deceitful, and 
therefore an emblem of the devil." " Years and years ago, a large 
and noble tree stood and flourished here, till a small black seed from 
a neighboring tree fell upon it — it vegetated — shot up its beautiful 
tiny tuft, and sent downwards its thread-like roots, drawing its 
entire nutriment from the noble tree on which it had alighted. As 
if to show the passers-by its profound gratitude to its benefactor, 
the roots laced and interlaced, till they entirely inclosed the old 
tree within its own bosom. Year after year the protege grew on 
and flourished, now drawing its nourishment from the earth as well 
as the parent tree. It is now this mighty tree ! But where is the 
old one? Only one solitary limb bears a little stunted foliage. 
The fact is, it is being squeezed to death.'' 

"But," said I, "these are the facts, now for the illustration." 
" Why," said he, " that is plain enough ! The Devil comes to us 
in the form of a wicked desire, an evil propensity, or a bad habit, 
and at first sight it appears so trivial that it is not worth noticing or 
resisting. It finds a lodgement in our hearts. It kindles, it burns, 
it sets on fire the whole course of nature. It soon obtains such an 



THE EVIL TREE. 163 



ascendancy as to be completely uncontrollable. Too late we find 
ourselves helpless slaves, lost, rumed, undone.'' I turned away 
from the tree with feelings of disgust for what I had just before 
admired. 

A few years after and I had occasion to visit Chetthingsville 
again. The little tree had become a giant. It had apparently 
taken the place of its benefactor. It was spreading its luxurious 
and dense foliage over the self-same path where I had lingered in 
other days. It appeared the triumphant conqueror. Every leaflet 
seemed dancing on its long quivering pedicle, as if courting the 
gentle zephyrs of evening. But I sought for the old tree. It was 
dead. Not a leaflet remained to tell its wrongs, or be a witness to 
its protege's guilt. Only one small opening near where the seed 
jrst lighted, disclosed the rapidly decaying wood of the old tree. 
Branch after branch had fallen, and been used as fuel by the vil- 
lagers. The rotten trunk alone remained, and that almost entirely 
concealed. 

A few days afterwards the villagers in clearing away rubbish 
from their gardens, set fire to it near the tree. The fire ran in the 
tall grass, and a spark alighted just upon the opening where the 
rotten wood was exposed. It took fire and burned slowly but 
steadily. As it was the dry season no rain fell to extinguish the 
fire. The dense foliage above protected it from the heavy dews of 
night. As it was inclosed within the living tree the wind could not 
fan the flame. So it burned slowly downward and upward. No one 
felt interest enough in it to extinguish the flames. Day after day 
as I took my walk, I stopped to see the giant struggling with the 
fire in its bosom. At length it withered and died, falling a victim 
to its victim's fate. All the passers-by seemed to sigh as they 
beheld it, and say "Amen." 

The sermon preached by the Karen up the country has never 
been obliterated from my mind. And as I observe the course of 
many of my young friends, I am too often painfully reminded of 
the fate of "the noble tree." Who has not seen the promising 
youth just merging into manhood, perchance from college halls, 
taking a high position in society, the pride of the parental fireside, 
loved and admired by all. But a trivial circumstance induced a 
slight bias of mind, which resulted in a momentary departure from 
the path of rectitude and virtue ; but so slight that even the most 



104 THE EVIL TREE. 



fastidious would scarcely notice it. But it was repeated again and 
again, till a habit was formed, and as the path of vice is an inclined 
plane, before he was aware of it himself he had acquired a fearful 
momentum in the path to ruin. That "fine eye" was dimmed — the 
noble brow shaded — the manly bearing had given place to conscious 
degradation. In a word our young friend was no longer visible. 
There appeared in his stead the idiotic stare — the bloated counte- 
nance, the trembling hand, the tottering form — and too soon, alas ! 
too soon, appeared the flame within, that consumed both together 
and laid them in an untimely and dishonored grave. 

I might enlarge from the field of my experience, and speak of 

the lovely amiable, and accomplished Miss who dated the 

commencement of her downward course to ruin, to the reading of a 
novel which was lent her by a professor of religion ! She read it — 
became disgusted with the matter-of-fact manner of life she was 
leading. She sighed to launch out into the ideal Elysium now 
spread out before her. The daily duties became irksome, yea, posi- 
tively unendurable. She listened to the Syren's song, and was 
ruined. 

I could also speak of , who, while visiting his cousins in the 

city, was prevailed upon for once to visit the Theatre. But why 
add examples. Every observer of human nature, has too many of 
these images already haunting his mind. But may not we as 
parents, — as mothers — while reflecting upon the fate of this noble 
tree, be led to tremble at our responsibility, and seek with renewed 
zeal and energy "that wisdom that comes from above," to enable 
us to shield our precious charges from the first breath of temptation, 
the first bias to evil — the first deviation from the path of rectitude 
and virtue. Lord protect our offspring ! 



" Fools make a mock at sin ;" and surely they only ; and if we 
feel inclined to shield ourselves under the excuse that it is only at 
little sins we laugh, let us remember, — 

" 'Twas but a little sin that entered in, 
i\nd lo ! at eventide the world is drowned." 



THE LARK THAT SOARING SINGS." 10/) 




"THE LARK THAT SOARING SINGS." 

Walking with a friend on a bright afternoon last summer, through 
one of the border streets of our goodly city, mj attention was drawn 
to a great number of cages, hanging about the door and filling the 
windows of a humble building, which proved to be the shop of a 
shoemaker. The occupant, a son of Erin, had come to our country 
of peace and plenty to make himself a home, but had brought with 
him, as boon companions, some of the sweet songsters of his native 
isle. And as he worked they sung, and right merry music they 
made, reminding him no doubt of pleasant scenes which his Irish 
heart loved to remember. Such manifestations of love to native 
land — to kindred — to scenes of early days and friends, it is pleasure 
to witness, as they always tell of genial sympathies, warm affections, 
and strong fidelity. Alas! for that child or man, who casts no 
lingering look on native home, who abjures his kindred, and is ready 
to take up and reiterate the taunts and jeers which a stranger may 
cast at them. It is no wonder that the Greenlander smiles at sight 
of his moss and lichen, for they constituted a great part of the food 
which nourished his life ; or that the native of the sunny south, 
shrinks from the frosty north, and pines for his home amidst the 
orange and palm trees. 

But I have wandered very far from the birds, whose songs of 
course I stopped to hear, and learn if possible their names. An 
elderly gentleman was, standing on the walk viewing them too, and 
proved to be one able to answer all inquiries respecting them. There 
was the goldfinch, bright, beautiful little bird ! notwithstanding all 
the long years which had intervened, the vision of my early childhood 



166 



THE LARK THAT SOAKING SINGS. 



flitted before me, when bj the old hearth-stone I used to read the 
plaintive strain of the little warbler, who 

" AYith form genteel, and plumage gay," 
was 

*' Caught, and caged, and starved to death." 

There was the nightingale, the sight of which revived the song 
my mother used to sing of "Lone Philomel's languishing strain." 
The sparrow too, the minute care of which was recognised bj our 
Saviour : — sweet mentor of the faithfulness and care of our Heavenly 
Father. "But there," said our communicative friend, '''there is the 
sky-lark, the most to be admired of all." He said that he had often 
when in England, risen with the dawn to watch the movements, and 
listen to the morning song of the lark. " It would arise from its 
low nest, and wheeling a little above it, commence its song, and 
circling up, up, up, until lost to sight, where in the pure upper air it 
would continue to warble forth its sweet thrilling strains, for some- 
times half an hour ; then circling and singing to earth again, com- 
mence its daily task of feeding and protecting its young." 

What a touching reproving lesson this, for man, who was made in 
the image of God, and endowed with noble powers to praise and 
glorify his Maker. May not fathers and mothers, young and old, 
take the example of the lark, and before they address themselves to 
the cares and duties of the day, soar aloft to the Mercy-seat, and 
offering the incense of grateful hearts for mercies past, invoke the 
presence and blessing of God to rest upon them during the day. 
They could but return from such high communion with Heaven, with 
countenances beaming with celestial radiance, and hearts subdued by 
influences which would fit them to perform the duties of life with 
pleasure, and bear its trials with fortitude and hope. 

Mrs. M. G. Clarke. 



" Only the wakeful lark had left her nest, and was mounting on 
high to salute the opening day. Earliest of birds, said I, companion 
of the dawn, may I always rise at thy voice ; rise to ofi'er the matin- 
song, and adore that Benificcnt Being, who maketh the out-goings 
of the morning and evening to rejoice." 



SUNRISE. 167 



SUNRISE. 

It is an every day occurrence, a very common affair — sunrise. 
Day succeeds each night, and night each day, till how few ever 
think what makes the day, or causes the night ; or how fearful 
would be a night followed by no day. And how many there are, 
who never witness the glorious ushering in of the morning ! — who 
never throw off the bands of night to greet the King of Day, as he 
commences the circuit of his domain ! 

Come forth, ye dwellers in the crowded city — ye listless wasters 
of morning's fresh hours ; — ye who tarried long amid the meagre 
brilliance of some fashionable midnight gathering ! — Come forth, 
this beautiful June morning, stand on this eminence, and view a 
scene more enchanting than your imaginations ever conceived. No 
galleries of art can equal it. Turn which way you will, all is soft, 
rich beauty. The very air is balm, while your ears are charmed 
with the full symphonies of nature's songsters. Their ever varying, 
ever harmonious notes will thrill your inmost souls : and you feel 
that a second Eden has been created around you, as the glorious 
sun comes forth from his chamber, and throws his beams of radiance 
over the whole scene. But as you admire and wonder, forget not 
Him who said, " Let there be light, and light was," — who made 
*'the great light to rule the day," — who controls his burning heat, 
and bids him keep his distant sphere. Neither forget the Sun of 
Kighteousness, who alone can drive the darkness of sin from the 
mmd, and warm to life the sin-destroyed faculties of the soul. 

Yet a few hours perhaps, and dark portentous clouds have shut 
out the glory of the day, and a gloom settles on the landscape, late so 
fair. It is ever thus with things of earth, — with human things. 
The morning of life is a glorious sunrise of hope ; and well may 
young hearts be light and happy, as they rejoice in its beams. 

The day of human life is never an unclouded day. The responsi- 
bilities, the toils, the cares, the disappointments, and sorrows which 
are in our path, will obscure the rays of hope, and settle like a pall 
upon our fondest delights. The blight and mildew of sin will gather 



1G8 READING THE BIBLE WITH CHILDREN. 

about our hearts, and turn our day to an eternal night, unless the 
spiritual vision be steadily fixed on that light which gleams from 
the celestial world. 

Come then, ye worldly dreamers — ye gay votaries of pleasure, — 
ye who are groping a weary way in want and darkness ! — come, 
away from the noise and din of earth, — from its corrupting haunts 
— its bewildering scenes ! — come, where the dawn of a new life 
can open upon you : — come to the path of holiness and peace, 
"which shineth brighter and brighter unto the perfect day." 
Then though your noon-day sun be clouded, and storms sweep 
around you, the sunset of your day will be more resplendent than its 
rising. The clouds will all be rolled back, their darkness only 
making more beautiful the bow of promise which spans them, while 
every object is gilded with his farewell beams, — an earnest of that 
morning of glory which shall succeed the night of the grave ! 

Mrs. M. G. Clarke. 



BEADING THE BIBLE WITH CHILDREN. 

From having been familiar with the precepts and histories of the 
Bible since our earliest recollection, we are in danger of reading the 
words without feeling their power. Indeed, I think we rarely have 
the ability so to concentrate the attention upon them as to lose no 
idea, and to feel the full force of their spiritual teachings, unless the 
mind is in a revived and deeply spiritual frame. And especially 
are we in danger of reading without profit, if several small children 
are in the room, engaged in conversation or amusement. 

But let us gather the little ones around us. Let us invite them 
to listen while we read to them. And, whether it is the story of 
the Babe of Bethlehem, or the happy children who in after years 
received his blessing ; whether Peter walks on the water to meet his 
Saviour, or follows him afar oif and then denies him ; whether the 
dead are raised to life, or the sick restored to health ; the hypocrit- 
ical Judas exposed, or the penitent thief adopted — there will be no 
chance for our interest to flag, or our minds to wander. They 
listen so attentively, that it gives new life and zest to every portion 
of the sacred word. We read new and glad tidings ; and we read, 



READING THE BIBLE WITH CHILDREN. 169 

not SO much for ourselves as for our children. As we raise our 
eyes from the sacred page, we meet a look of such deep interest 
and inquiring attention, as cannot fail to keep our own minds on the 
alert. There is a vividness to every thing we read in this way, 
that gives a peculiar charm to passages that have been read and 
re-read, until we have become so familiar with the words, that it 
requires no mental effort to read them, and they often fail to awaken 
any emotions in a mind pre-occupied by other thoughts. For it is 
a well known phenomenon of the mind, that it may have a just 
appreciation of words, and, in a sense receive them into it, while it 
is wholly engrossed with other, and entirely irrelevant subjects. 

But when I read to my dear children, every thing is life-like. 
The hills of Judea loom up before me, and I hear a voice saying, 
" As the mountains are round about Jerusalem, so the Lord is 
round about his people, from henceforth even forever." I see the 
temple of Solomon in its glory — I see the haughty Nebuchadnezzar 
stripping it of its consecrated vessels of gold and silver, and carrying 
them to his idol temple. I see the captive Jews sitting by the 
streams of Babylon. Their harps hang on the waving branches of 
the willows, making mournful music in the wind. I see their captors 
tauntingly requiring of them a song, and I hear the sad reply, 
" How can we sing the Lord's song in a strange land ?" I see 
Daniel, standing up in all the integrity of heroic Christianity, and 
refusing even to partake of the king's wine. I see him in full 
view of the lion's den, bowing himself three times a day, in his 
chamber, with his face towards Jerusalem, to worship the true God. 
I see the hand-writing on the wall, when the impious king desecrated 
the sacred vessels brought from Jerusalem, and gave not God the 
homage due to his great name. I see him dethroned, and Cyrus 
raised up and appointed of God to restore again the captive Jews to 
their beloved home. I see the Jews in spite of opposition, raising 
again the temple. I hear the shouting of the young, mingled with 
the wailing of the old, when the foundation of the new temple is 
laid — and all is seeming reality. 

I see in the types and figures, the dim foreshadowing of a better 
dispensation ; I hear the prophets proclaim a coming Messiah. I 
see the yearning spirit stretching forward down the lapse of time, 
with an eagerness that can scarcely be restrained ; and when the 
fullness of time has come, I see the wise men led by the star in the 



170 READING THE BIBLE WITH CHILDREN. 

east, inquiring of the crafty Herod, where the prophets had foretold 
the advent of the Saviour should take place. I see the humble shep- 
herds watching their flocks ; I see their attention suddenly arrested 
by harmonious sounds ; I almost seem to hear the seraphic music, 
and my mind is impressed with a new and stronger sense of the 
'''good tidings of great joy^' that the heavenly host proclaimed in 
the stillness of night, on the plains of Bethlehem. 

And who can read without a new thrill of interest, all that fol- 
lows ? — the presenting of gifts — the flight by night — the bloody 
massacre by Herod — the return from Egypt— the presentation in 
the temple, when the good old Simeon taking the child in his arms, 
said, " Now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes 
have seen thy salvation" — and the touching mention of the Saviour's 
subjection to parental authority at Nazareth. 

Then with what deep interest they listen to the story of the birth, 
life, and death of John the Baptist, the cousin and pioneer of the 
blessed Jesus. How he stands out in bold relief before us, a hardy 
man, subsisting upon locusts and wild honey, his robe confined by a 
leathern girdle, and his one great aim absorbing his mind — to pre- 
pare the way of the Lord. 

The baptism of the blessed Saviour ; his temptation in the wilder- 
ness ; his choice of followers from among the fishermen of Galilee ; 
his miracles, and especially the scenes on Calvary and at the tomb 
of Joseph, are replete with interest to the young and enquiring 
mind. Then follows the account of the miraculous appearance of 
our Saviour after his resurrection, his friendly interviews with his 
disciples, and his ascension from the plains of Bethany, after giving 
to his apostles the great commission to preach the everlasting 
gospel to all nations. 

And in the dissemination of the gospel, in obedience to that com- 
mand, I think few will feel more interest than little children, espe- 
cially if their minds are already enlisted in the truths that precede, 
and somewhat imbued with the spirit of the sacred narrative. The 
establishment of the zealous but wavering Peter, the conversion and 
self-denjang labors of the strong-minded Paul ; the persecutions 
they endured, and God's guardian care over them, delivering them 
out of prison by the interposition of angels, giving them power to 
work miracles in the name of Jesus, and sending them safe from the 
machinations of the Jews, to proclaim \X\q glad tidings to the Gentile 



READING THE BIBLE WITH CHILDREN". ITI 

world, all chain their attention, and make an indelible impression 
upon the mind. 

But I cannot, and need not enumerate particular incidents. In 
truth I find no part of the Bible, from the fiat of the Almighty, 
"Let there be light," to the Revelation made to the beloved disciple 
on the isle of Patmos, that fails to elicit undivided and almost unwea- 
rying attention. 

Nor is it alone in reading the historical portions of the Scriptures, 
that the attention of listening children increases the interest of the 
mother. The preceptive parts, although they give less scope for the 
imagination, chain the attention, and make deep and lasting impres- 
sions. And I feel in reading these portions, that my own mind 
cannot be sluggish, lest the oft-repeated " what does that mean ?" 
may find me slumbering at my post. I feel too that I have need to 
come to this exercise with an humble, teachable, and prayerful 
spirit, that in dependence upon that wisdom which cometh from 
above, I may be able to explain heavenly truths — truthfully. 

And now let me urge upon mothers, the frequent reading of the 
Holy Scriptures to their children, and not so much as a task or 
duty, but as a privilege. Let them see that you feel interested and 
there will be no lack of interest on their part. And you will find 
yourself abundantly repaid for the expenditure of voice and time, 
by the reflex influence on your own souls. 

I recollect in the case of one of my children, when about five 
years of age ; her desire to hear the New Testament was so great, 
that if she saw me at leisure a moment, she would run and bring it 
to me, and insist upon my reading a chapter to her ; so that until 
I had read it all through with her, I could scarcely get an opportu- 
nity to read any thing else. I must speak from experience, for it 
is the only criterion by which I can judge. And I can truly say, 
mine has been a blessed experience in this respect. I find the 
Bible in its teachings, adapted to all a mother's spiritual wants. 
And I find in reading it to my children, that my own heart is 
enlarged, and its sacred truths are unfolded to my mind, with new 
force and beauty. The page seems at times almost luminous with 
the truth, and I trust that by its light I am assisted in the dis- 
charge of a mother's responsible duties. I have felt for some time a 
desire to communicate to others my views on this Subject, but am led 



172 READING THE BIBLE WITH CHILDREN. 

to it, particularly at this time, by the following incident, which 
recently occurred. 

It was sabbath afternoon, and though 1 had a volume of religious 
correspondence that I should have been glad to read to myself, yet I 
felt that if I did so I should be neglecting the dear children. So I 
took down the " Family Bible," and read to them the history of the 
good king Josiah, who began to reign when he was only eight years 
old. They listened with deep interest while I read to them about 
his destroying the images, and cutting down the groves where they 
had been worshipped, of his deep grief when he discovered by the 
book that was found in the temple, how greatly the Israelites had 
sinned in departing from God ; how he rent his clothes ; how he 
caused the book of the law to be read in the hearing of all the peo- 
ple, and established again among them the worship of the true God. 
Then followed kings who "did evil in the sight of the Lord," until 
He gave them up into the hands of their enemies, and they were 
carried away into Babylon. Then I commenced reading the account 
of their return from the captivity in Babylon to build again the 
temple and raise the walls of Jerusalem. But here my voice failed ; 
and though they begged for more I was obliged to suspend the read- 
ing until I could rest. I laid down the bible and they separated. 
After an interval of perhaps an hour, I took up the bible, and with- 
out saying a word, seated myself by the window. Before I had 
time to open it, my little son, a child of six years, came and seating 
himself quietly by my side, said, " Mother, are you going to read 
some more in the bible ?" " Yes," I said. " ! thank you mother," 
said he, "for reading some more." And the next moment the other 
two were by my side, ready to catch the first sound, and to drink 
from that fountain whose waters flow for the healing of the nations, 
and whose streams make glad the city of our God. 

My heart was encouraged and my faith strengthened : and I feel 
constrained to say to the mothers who may read this— let us 
prize this inestimable treasure — let us draw from it that light and 
help we so much need — and let us bring our children also to its 
living waters, " That our sons may be as plants grown up in their 
youth ; that our daughters may be as corner-stones polished after 

the similitude of a palace." 

L. B. L. 



17; 



"I LONG FOR THEE MOTHER," 

BY R. S. J. 

I LONG for thee, mother ! Thy form I still see. 

On memory's tablet impressed, 
And time's proudest relics shall crumble away ; 

Ere that image so loved be erased. 
I lost thee, dear mother, when manhood's warm tide 

To its flood was fast hastening on. 
When I treasured most highly my boyhood's guide, 

And deemed thee kind Heaven's best boon. 

We long for thee, mother, when at the full board, 

The bounties of Heaven we share ; 
Though the accents of laughter around us be heard, 

We rejoice not; for thou art not there. — 
And when to the homestead we come as of yore ; 

How desolate seemeth each room ; 
How wearily swings e'en the oft-opened door ; 

For dimmed is the light of that home. 

I long for thee, mother, when burdened by care, 

I flee from the throngings of men ; 
When pain racks my body, afflictions draw near, 

Sweet mother,, I long for thee then. 
I long for thy gentle encouraging tone, 

That soothed all my sorrows and pains ; 
1 long for that calm quiet smile, which alone. 

Sent new life through my slow-beating veins. 

I've lost thee dear mother ! but ever would hold 

Thy teachings of heavenly truth, — 
More lasting than rubies, more precious than gold, 

More lovely than fresh-blooming youth. 
Those teachings I'll follow through life's weary path 

Till I join thee in regions above ; 
Where the soul, freed from sorrows and partings by death, 

Shall bathe in an ocean of love. 
Korrisfown, Pa. 



174 THE VALUE OF TIME. 



THE VALUE OF TIME. 

Time is the great witness of all human events. From the first 
dawn of the creation to the present age, he has reigned with undis- 
puted swaj. He has witnessed the rise and fall of empires. He 
has seen the wide world explored, kingdoms and provinces called 
into existence and the "wilderness made to blossom like the rose." 
He has seen cities built and decorated with all that could please the 
eye, or divert the mind, but he has set his seal upon them and they 
have fallen : their towers are demolished, their palaces are deserted, 
and their kings have closed their eyes in death, and returned to the 
dust from whence they came. The whole world wears his signet, and 
even the family circle does not escape. He closes those eyes, and 
seals forever those lips, that have cheered us in our sorrow, wraps 
the winding sheet around them, and we know them no more. 

Time should be considered as a sacred trust committed to us from 
God, and for which we are to render an account at the last day. 
It is allotted to us partly for the concerns of this world and partly 
for those of the next : each of which should occupy the space which 
belongs to it. There is a season for every thing, and every thing 
should be performed at the proper time. In the morning, the trans- 
actions of the day should be planned and closely followed out : as by 
that means a thread is formed which will lead us through the laby- 
rinth of the most busy life. When we wish to introduce order into 
the management of our time, it is necessary for us to be impressed 
with a just sense of its value, we should consider how much depends 
upon it ; and how fast it flies away. " Time once past never returns ; 
the moment it is past it is lost forever." We cannot recall the 
moments that have passed into eternity, they are gone, and we too 
soon shall pass away. How important then is it that we squander 
not away the time allotted to us ; that we heed the moments as they 
glide swiftly by, knowing that we have but a short space in which to 
improve the faculties that God has given us for our special good. Not 
a moment therefore should be lost, but all be carefully employed in 
the acquisition of that knowledge which not only qualifies us for 
usefulness and enjoyment in this world, but increases our capacities 
for Heaven, and will more and more closely assimilate us to God in 
the world to come. E. F. C. 



THE PROPOSED JOURNEY. 175 



THE PROPOSED JOURNEY. 



Maria listened very attentively to Mr. Northam's conversation 
with her parents. She could not understand all his words, and she 
knew nothing about the subjects on which they were conversing, but 
his odd way of speaking, and his peculiar looks and manners fixed 
her attention so that she quite forgot the rain which had caused her 
so much disappointment, till she heard the stranger inform her father 
that he was travelling to N. Hampshire on foot. 

" Ah !" thought Maria, " what a long walk ! I am very sorry he 
has no horse and carriage." At that moment she thought herself 
a most benevolent child. But the heart is deceitful above all things. 

" On your way to N. H. ;" said Mr. Burton, "you have arrived 
just in time to take a seat in the carriage with me. I intend to 
start on the same journey as soon as the weather is suitable, and 
shall be very glad of your company." 

" Thank you," replied Mr. N., "I have become rather weary with 
walking so much of late, and should like to ride, and to enjoy your 
company ; had it not been for the rain I should have got on a good 
piece to-day." 

"And I," rejoined Mr. B., "should have been far on my way, 
but Providence has ordered that we should enjoy the journey 
together." 

Maria heard the last part of this conversation with very unpleas- 
ant and wicked feelings. "Now," thought she, "the pleasure of 
my ride is entirely spoiled. I shall have half a seat in the carriage, 
and I can't talk with father and ask him all about the things I see. 
How came that strange looking old man to come here to-day ?" She 
felt displeased with her father, because he paid the stranger so much 
attention ; displeased with the gentleman, because he had come to 
the house ; and, what was far worse, displeased with her heavenly 
Father, because he had sent the rain, which seemed the cause of all 
the trouble. While her pious father, and his friend, could see that 
the rain had brought a blessing to them, the poor little girl could see 



17() THE PROPOSED JOURNEY. 

no blessing for her ; but God was watching over her, and he could 
make the disappointment and trial of this day the means of showing 
her her own heart, and that would finally be a blessing. 

When she retired to rest, her mother said, " Can my daughter 
look back on this day with satisfaction?" 

"No mother," said Maria, *^it has not been a good day." 
" And has there been any real cause of unhappiness ?" 
" I think there has. I expected to have a pleasant journey with 
father, but now I know I shall not." 
" How can you know that, my dear ?" 

" Why mother, that old man is going to crowd into the chaise 
with us, and father asked him to." 

" Well, daughter, you are fond of company." 
" I do not like him, he looks and speaks so disagreeably." 
" Did you not like him before your father asked him to ride ?" 
" Not very well, mother, but I did not dislike him so much." 
" Examine your heart my dear, and see if selfishness is not the 
main cause of your dislike. The Bible directs us to look every one 
on the things of another, that is, consult their interests, and not our 
own alone. I suppose you have not thought how much pleasure 
this arrangement will give your father, and how much comfort and 
satisfaction it will aiFord the gentleman, but you have been thinking 
of the inconvenience to your own little self. You felt so benevolent 
last Sabbath that you wished to put all your money into the contri- 
bution box." 

" yes, mother, I am always ready to give my money to the 
heathen." 

" My child, you have never suffered for the want of moneys and 
do not realize its value. When you give it away, you do not deprive 
yourself of any comfort. It is not all that looks like benevolence 
that is really such. Do you understand me dear?" 

" Yes, mother," replied Maria, in a sorrowful tone, "I don't think 
I am really benevolent." 

When the chamber door closed, and her mother left her to her 
own reflections, the little girl felt more unhappy than she did in the 
morning. Now there was added a feeling of guilt. It was not that 
her words and actions had been very wrong ; it was not that her 
parents had reproved her. Her kind fiither did not even know how 
she had felt towards him ; her mother had spoken only gentle words 



JUVENILE DELINQUENCY. 177 

to assist her in detecting her own faults. Mr. Northam had not the 
most distant idea of her feelings towards him — but her own heart 
reproved her, and she well knew that her heavenly Father, against 
whom she had committed the greatest sin, could see all her wicked- 
ness, and could not love and bless her in such a state. What could 
she do ? She could ask God to forgive her, and give her a new 
heart, and this she tried to do before she fell asleep. 

L. L. H. 



JUVENILE DELINQUENCY. 

The following from the Phil. Evening Bulletin of April 16, we transfer 
to our pages as worthy of special attention. It cannot be read too much or 
by too many. 

The Pennsylvania Journal of Prison Discipline for April, contains 
an article discussing Juvenile Delinquency. Six prominent causes 
of crime, operative on children in great cities, are enumerated. 
First, and chiefly is drunkenness. Second, the absence of education 
and industrial training. Third, the want of decent and comfortable 
homes. Fourth, the demoralizing influences of cheap theatres, fire 
companies, and the liberty to dispose of the w^hole, or a considerable 
part of their earnings. Fifth, the example, instruction, or orders 
of vicious parents. Sixth, the connivance or co-operation of re- 
ceivers of stolen goods. 

Of these various causes the most potential, in our opinion, is the 
second. In it indeed all the others are contained. It is the parent 
stem, from which the rest are offshoots ; they are but its develope- 
ments, its bud, blossom and fruit. For, under the head of education, 
we include moral culture as well as intellectual training: ; and if a 
child in addition to these, is taught habits of industry, it cannot well 
become vicious. Neither drunkenness nor a taste for low theatres, 
nor an unhappy home, nor the running with fire companies, nor 
theft, nor crime in general, can be rationally expected of a boy thus 
trained ; but may be almost certainly looked for, when the lad has 
not had such early moral, intellectual and industrial discipline. 

The prevention of juvenile delinquency, considered in a broad and 

12 



178 JUVENILE DELINQUENCY. 

general aspect, narrows itself down, therefore, to the home training 
of youth. If a child is properly brought up, the chances that he 
will turn out a good member of society, are a hundred to one. The 
first thing, consequently, is, that parents should themselves be repu- 
table. But often parents, who are moral themselves, neglect the 
proper discipline of their offspring. As we remarked, in a former 
article on this subject, the fashion of the age has tended to leave the 
moral culture of children too much to Sunday School and other 
teachers : yet the only place where a child can be effectively taught 
habits of integrity is the household. Constant watchfulness over 
him, joined to thorough knowledge of his character, and assisted by 
judicious affection, will alone train a child up aright, and no person 
but a parent (generally the mother is the best person) can main- 
tain this incessant supervision, and exercise this careful, but neces- 
sary mingling of love and firmness. Consequently one great cause 
of juvenile delinquency, because a principal cause of the neglect of 
education and industrial training, is the omission, by moral parents, 
of that home culture of their offspring, which alone can make the 
young good citizens. 

Where a child has not reputable parents, its chance of growing 
up honestly is but small. "You cannot gather figs from thorns," 
says the Bible, "nor grapes from thistles." Few persons have any 
idea how large is the number of children, without proper parents or 
homes, in modern cities. In the Eleventh Ward of New York, for 
example, there are five thousand destitute of education, and nine 
thousand who are never taken to any church, and as the giving 
an education to a child, or the habituating him to some form of 
public worship, usually characterizes proper parents, it may be 
inferred that at least five thousand, the lowest number, are without 
good moral training. Again, in New York alone, ten thousand 
children are vagrants. Neither Philadelphia nor Boston is as bad 
as New York. But these facts show that even here the number of 
children, without correct moral, intellectual and industrial training, 
must be frightful. Can we wonder that juvenile delinquency is on 
the increase ? Is it any longer a subject of amazement that crime 
exhibits a steady annual growth? With one solitary House of 
Refuge, on one side, and hundreds, perhaps thousands of parents 
who neglect their children, on the other, who can be astonished that 
juvenile delin((ucncy makes steady progress, and, like the avabinclK'. 



JUVENILE DELINQUENCY. 179 

gathering strength as it goes, swells into adult crime, and threatens 
to sweep society before it. 

The natural question is — what can be done? The Journal of 
Prison Discipline suggests that the State, or city, should have the 
right to remove children from vicious parents, and train them up at 
the expense of the Commonwealth, or municipality. This is good 
advice, and should be acted on. It may seem, at first, a costly 
proceeding. But a little reflection will show that it is cheaper to 
prevent crime than to punish it ; since it costs thrice as much to 
detect and keep a convict, as to train a child. Yet even this will 
not entirely cure the evil. There are hundreds of homes, in whicli 
children are neglected, but not sufliciently to warrant their removal. 
Most crime, indeed, may be traced to a childhood spent in such 
households. The disease is a moral cancer in society, schirrous on 
the outside, inside stretching its hideous arms far out of sight ; and 
but one panacea there is, which can search out its roots in the char- 
acter of the parents, and extirpate them. We need not say we 
allude to Christianity. Modern society wants more religion. 
Whether the Church has not done her duty, or whether materialism 
has sapped the general faith, we will not pretend to assert ; but the 
fact is that, write as we may about the causes of crime, the decline 
of religion is the foundation of all. Some may call this cant. We 
wish we could think it was, for then we should have hope for society, 
which, we confess we cannot have, amid the increasing demoraliza- 
tion. We believe, as firmly as we believe in our own existence, that 
unless the Church wakes up, and, like its divine founder and his dis- 
ciples, " consorts with publicans and sinners," "goes out into the 
highways and hedges," all is lost, because careless mothers will 
train up vicious children faster, a hundred fold, than Houses of 
Refuge, were they even vastly multiplied, can reform them. And 
by the Church we mean, not any one sect, but all sects ; not visible 
bodies of worshippers alone, but all who believe in the Sermon on 
the Mount. 

It is parental neglect, rather than youthful sin, we thus see, which 
is the real evil of the age. Philanthropists declaiming against fire 
companies, temperance lecturers denouncing taverns, and preachers 
delivering philippics against bad books and theatres, only attack the 
effects, not the cause, and are engrossed in clubbing at the fruit, 
when tiiey should hy the axe to the tree. If they would co'd^e 



180 RESPECT DUE TO WIVES. 



following these false scents, and track the wolf home to his den 
they would find the monster in weak mothers, in careless fathers, 
and generally in parents indifferent to their parental responsibilities. 
The devil to be cast out is that very devil — none other — and he is a 
worse devil to get at than any, or all, of the others. But while 
he remains in possession, there is no chance for peace or safety. 
Who will conjure him forth ? Legislators cannot do it with twice ten 
thousand laws. Philanthropists cannot do it with legions even of 
Houses of Correction. The Church alone, that is, Christianity, can 
exorcise the evil spirit. When formalism and cant give way to the 
pure Gospel, or spirituality succeeds the materialism now so prevalent 
in society, we may look for a radical reform of juvenile delinquency, 
and for a consequent decrease in crime. But till then all we do will 
but palliate, not cure the disease. To extirpate the evil we must 
cauterize its roots away, and this we can effect by no philanthropic 
institutions whatever, but by a social and moral reform, such as the 
Church alone can bring about. 

Let every one, however, work — the Church in her place, philan- 
thropists in theirs. " Society is ripe for the harvest, and alas ! the 
laborers are few. 



RESPECT DUE TO WIVES. 

Do not jest with your wife upon a subject in which there is 
danger of wounding her feelings. Remember that she treasures 
every word you utter. Do not speak of some virtue in another 
man's wife to remind your own of a fault. Do not reproach your 
wife with personal defects, for if she has sensibility you inflict a 
wound difficult to heal. Do not treat your wife with inattention in 
company ; it touches her pride, and she will not respect you more 
or love you better for it. Do not upbraid your wife in presence of 
:j third party ; the sense of your disregard of her feelings will pre- 
vent her from acknowledging her faults. Do not entertain your 
wife by praising the beauty and accomplishments of other women. 
If you would have a pleasant home and a cheerful Avife, pass your 
evenings under your own roof. Do not be stern and silent in your 
own house, an-l remarkable for sociability elsewhere. 



A MOTHER'S JEWELS. 181 



A MOTHER'S JEWELS. 

The ancient Roman matron when asked to show her jewels brought 
forward her children. " These are my jewels,'' said she. Chris- 
tian mother, he not behind this heathen sister, in affection and care 
for your offspring. Well-trained children are a mother's highest 
ornament — they reflect more -true honor upon her, than would the 
richest diamonds earth's proudest monarch could boast. Who would 
not pity, (I had well nigh said scorn,) the woman, not deserving the 
name of mother, who could array herself with costly garb, bedecked 
with gold and precious stones, vary all with the oft-recurring calls 
of fashion,, were it seen that she had vile, or rude and ungovernable, 
because untaught, and uncared-for children ? How infinitely more 
respected would be the humble mistress of the neat quiet cottage, 
who rises early and toils late, but forgets not amid her cares, her 
duties to her offspring — trains them for eternity, and to deserve 
confidence and esteem here : — whose " children rise up to call her 
blessed." Mother, you have to do, not only with your children's 
minds, but with their hearts. There is persevering, careful labor to 
be bestowed upon them. They are not given to you in their natural 
state, exactly like the gold in the mine, or like the marble in the 
quarry, to be separated from the dross and moulded, or to be hewn 
and chiseled and shaped ; but, like the well-planned garden in whicli 
every plant is fair — all its infantile tricks, all its efforts to do, and 
to learn, and all its innocent prattle are lovely. The first crop of 
your garden has nothing vile — still, the soil is rich to produce weeds 
or flowers, good or evil. Alas ! with the same culture, the weeds 
will far outstrip the useful plants. But, mother, this is your work 
— train these plants to blossom in the paradise above. Make your 
children to be your jewels here, and your Saviour's forevermore ; 
so shall you " save their souls from death," and you "shall in no 
wise lose your reward." 

J. H. y 



182 CAEES AXD COMFORTS. 



CARES AND COMFORTS. 

OB, 

a a^a lo tl)e Sllfe of ^ GoJiiMbqlo^ 



Mrs. Gilbert wrote on, and the one hour stretched along into 
two, as she well knew it would when she began ; but they were not 
wearisome, only the thought of that one wanting dollar would some- 
times cause her to make a pause longer than the sense required. 
And quite a misfortune it caused her once; for nearly at the 
bottom of the first page of the formal petition, where she should 
have written Art. 3, she started upon seeing that she had written 
Nilcha, $1,00 ; and so she had nothing to do, but to put that half- 
sheet away into the box where she kept waste paper, to be rolled 
by little leisure hands into lamp lighters, and to begin again. 

And just to prove the truth of the adage " that evils never come 
single," just as she was arranging her second sheet, the door opened 
and Nilcha entered. 

" Miss Gilbert," she said, " there are lots of things wanting 
to-day." 

" What things, Nilcha ?" 

" Why, soda, and cream o' tartar, and there's no sugar but that 
Ireadful brown stuff, and the starch is gone, and the tea's about 
out." 

" Can't we get along one day more ?" 

" If any body was to come, as they most generally does, what 
should we do?" 

" I will see to it, Nilcha." 

And she went to the drawer, took out a little red covered book, 
looked it over carefully ; but her face expressed no encouragement. 
There was no overlooked bill, — no little mite that could drop in 
from that score, to meet the wants of to-day. To be sure, her eye 
fell on half-a-dozen charges for a term or a half term's tuition — ^ 



CARES AND COMFORTS. 183 



case of drawing pencils, a few sheets of Bristol board, &c. But 
these were outlawed. The man, over whose daughter she had bent 
so wearily, had moved farther West, and he did not bring even so fcir 
as Prairieville his New England scruples about paying his debts. 
She put back the book with a sigh, and took out another. " It 
must be so," she said, " though I did not mean that one mill should 
be charged against us this quarter ; but I can not ask Mr. Gilbert 
for money to-day when he feels so discouraged." And she wrote 

an order on Mr. C 's store for the needed articles, and carried 

it with the little green book to Nilcha. As she handed it to her, she 
thought " I may as well ask her, though if she should get an idea 
that I could not pay her promptly, she might come back and inform 
me that she had found a new place ; for it is for money, and money 
alone that these Dutch girls labor." 

Mrs. Gilbert hesitated a moment ; — her heart beat, and she felt a 
little most unwelcome glow upon her face as she said ; — " Nilcha, a 

few weeks ago you know you asked me for an order on Mr. C 's 

store ; would you take one there to-day, for the three dollars that 
are your due ?" 

"No ma'am I can't ; that was just 'cause I wanted a dress like my 
sister who lives to Mr. Cole's ; but now what I want three dollars 
for, is to help my father to make up the twenty dollars he's got to 
pay this month to the man in the colony who brought us over. Me 
and my three sisters has got to pay three dollars apiece this week 
for that." 

"And you must have it to-night," timidly asked Mrs. Gilbert. 

" Yes ma'am, if you please, 'cause it's my night to go home you 
know, and my father did scold me so about getting my bonnet new 
trimmed, till that was paid ; he was so mad with me as he could be, 
and he say I wa'n't worth bringin' over, any way." 

" Well, Nilcha, you shall have your money ; but take this order to 
Mr. Cole's store, and he will give you all the things that are want- 
iog." 

" And what is this little book /or, ma'am?" 

" 0, that you are to give to Mr. Cole, and he will write down the 
things you get and send it back to me." 

" That is a strange way." 

" But it is a very good way : Nilcha, and then when the quarter 
comes round I always know precisely how much I owe. And it will 



184 CARES AND COMFORTS. 



be more than we can possibly meet," thought Mrs. Gilbert, as she 
turned to go into the nursery ; troubled, but not utterly cast down ; 
for she remembered the narrower straits than this, from which some 
kind Providence had brought her forth. " For even the very hairs of 
your head are all numbered," she repeated to herself, and, " fear not, 
ye are of more value than many sparrows." "It's a blessing that 
we've got credit," she thought, "and 0, it is a blessing that good 
sister G. lives so near ; she knows the straits through which we are 
sometimes obliged to pass, and if relief come from no other source, 
I can borrow the one dollar of her ; at any rate I will not forget 
that these more sisterly friendships than I ever enjoyed elsewhere, 
are great comforts in the midst of all our cares." 

When Mr. Gilbert came home, the letters were written, sealed, 
and mailed. The ^'petition" was finished, and enclosed in a long 
yellow envelope and directed, in a most lawyer-like hand, to the 
Hon. Judge H., State Senator, and the very last paragraph of the 
"report" was under her hand. 

Mrs. Gilbert looked up, and was it weakness if she coveted a 
little commendation ? But Mr. Gilbert looked pale, and anxious, 
and abstracted, as though cares were pressing heavily. He looked 
over the petition and said : — " Yes, it's correct, I believe, unless 
it be that these numbers, two, three, and four, should have been 
Roman letters instead of figures." 

"I looked in the statute book," she said, "and they were figures 
there." 

" Well, then, they are right, and the report too is all correct, as 
far as I see. Well, I am glad they are ofi" my hands." 

" The dinner is on the table and gittin' cold," Nilcha announced 
the second time before they went out ; but when she sat down, Mrs. 
Gilbert had no appetite. A leaden weight was on her heart. There 
was a feeling like suffocation in her throat, which she could not 
overcome, and a most uncomfortable fear lest the efi'ort to do so 
should bring forth certain watery witnesses of the struggle that was 
going on within. She tried to think of cheerful things, but all her 
thoughts would frame themselves into one sentence, which she felt 
ashamed to read, but which would nevertheless he read, — " He 
never thanked me." 

The cares of life sometimes crowd upon each other in wearisome 
succession, but they never press so heavily upon woman's heart, as 



CARES AND COMFORTS. 185 



when they deprive her of those gentle civilities which first won her 
regard; — of those tender recognitions which once so abundantly 
rewarded her for the little sacrifices with which her sphere of duty 
IS replete. Oh ! it is hard to know that an ungrateful public is 
stealing those sweet home blossoms, whose perfumes would have 
revived our fainting hearts. It is like planting our choicest roses 
by the way-side, to waste their fragrance upon the careless pass- 
ers-by. 

Mrs. Gilbert went back to her room after dinner, but it did not 
look pleasant there. The table, drawn up before the fire, and with 
the statute book still lying open upon it, reminded her of her morn- 
ing's work, with the reward of which she was not quite satisfied. 

She gathered up the papers hastily and put them out of sight ; 
and it must be acknowledged (for Mrs. Gilbert was by no means a 
perfect woman,) that it was with no very gentle hand that she 
brought together the heavy sheep covers of that same statute book. 
But as the leaves closed, she seemed to see the pale, anxious, care- 
worn face of her husband rise pleadingly out of them, and tear after 
tear fell with heavy drop upon the cover. 

As she stood there, Nilcha opened the door and said ; — '' Miss 
Gilbert, I could help put down the back sitting room carpet as soon 
as my dinner dishes are washed, but it wants as much as a day's 
work of mending I should think by the looks of it." 

*' I had as lief darn an old carpet as do any thing else this after- 
noon," thought Mrs. Gilbert, as she drew up her low stool by the 
side of the dusty pile, that had been faded by the suns of ten sum- 
mers, and worn by the tread of numerous feet during as many 
winters. The moth-eaten remnant, laid by years ago, before they 
thought of coming to the West, was drawn forth from the old piece 
basket, and with the ravelled threads she commenced her work. 

But the bright, new colors that she drew in, but poorly matched 
those which were once the same upon the carpet ; and this contrast 
suggested another, which she was just in a mood to see quite as dis- 
tinctly as the one forming under her hand. 

"Who would think they were ever the same?" thought she. 
" The old is too much like myself, rusty, faded, worn, — worn by the 
careless jostle and thoughtless tread of those who will only recognise 
me when they miss me. ! if I could know that I was of some 
use somewhere." She had forgotten her morning's labor and her 



186 CARES AND COMFORTS. 

success. Now she looked back upon life, and it seemed a path 
from which all the flowers had faded. She looked forward, and it 
was a weary pilgrimage. So suddenly had a ' change come o'er the 
spirit of her dream.' 

And why? had she labored for thanks alone, that she felt so 
keenly the disappointment of receiving no grateful recognition of 
the little sacrifice she had made that morning? No; but that 
anxious, clouded face seemed lately so often to reproach her, as 
doing nothing to help support the burden that was crushing her 
husband. She missed so sadly the smiles that used to cheer her 
when he in that little New England parish, performed only the 
labor of one man, instead of that of ten, which his present position 
seemed to require of him. Now his abstracted manner and ever 
anxious look, too often warned her that the light of home was grow- 
ing dim in th^ heavy atmosphere that surrounded it. And it is not 
strange if she sometimes, as now, felt inclined to doubt her own 
policy of trying even to appear cheerful ; for she knew that to one 
steeped in care, or fretted and irritated by the narrow-mindedness, 
nay, utter soullessness, which forever meets and circumscribes en- 
larged purposes and benevolent designs, the cheerfulness that is 
intended to divert or soothe, may seem like indifi'erence, or want of 
sympathy. It is not strange if she sometimes, as now, asked, 
" Why should I thus carefully conceal my own cares ? Who will 
ever give me credit for sleepless nights ? Who will ever take note 
oimy days of anxious, heart-depressing, and life-abbreviating cares ?" 

We are well aware that another, a better spirit than that which 
meddles with such questions as these, would have been more becoming 
in our heroine ; and were we writing a novel, we should most certainly 
have put her in possession of that spirit of self-abnegation so lovely 
in woman ; but as we have devoted our pen to a description of scenes 
in real life, we dare not thus suppress aught of the truth. And if 
our readers are dissatisfied with our model of a woman we would 
say: "First cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then 
shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye." 

Mrs. Gilbert kept on with her dirty, unpleasant work, stopping 
only now and then to press her hand against her heart, as if she 
thus could raise the burden that lay with such crushing weight 
against that little life propeller. But, as she drew in and out those 
measured threads, she began to ponder these daily lessons of her 



CARES AND COMFORTS. 18' 



life. What were they designed to teach ? Why were they given to 
her? Cousin Fanny over the way there, had no such lessons to 
learn. It was really refreshing to go into her large, but oh ! so 
nicely warmed parlors ; — to tread upon those soft carpets, and 
forget her weariness in that luxurious easy chair, which was always 
so gracefully vacated upon her entrance. Her walls were adorned 
with costly pictures, and from every little niche and corner peeped 
forth some fanciful trifle — some exquisite model of taste and ele- 
gance. Her portfolio was filled with beautiful engravings, and her 
table and book shelves were always covered with ^' fresh gleanings" 
from the literary world. Through a door apparently left carelessly 
ajar, was borne in the sweet fragrance of flowers, which she had 
plenty of time to rear, and the lively songs of birds, which she had 
plenty of leisure to tend. She had servants who came and went at 
her bidding ; for money, gained by a lucrative profession and fortu- 
nate speculation, was placed in most generous allowance at her 
disposal. 

Was cousin Fanny ever tired ? Did she ever long for time to 
write a few words of afi"ectionate greeting to a friend, or to pen a 
few thoughts that might perhaps minister comfort to some distant 
but kindred heart ; by saying that you are not alone in this weary, 
struggling life of ours ? Oh no ! Cousin Fanny knew nothing of 
all this ; yet the furrows on her cheek were deeper than those care 
had traced on Mrs. Gilbert's. She would gladly have exchanged 
all the ease which she enjoyed, for any toil, no matter how severe ; 
all the wealth and elegance by which she was surrounded, for 
poverty, no matter how obscure, to buy back one lost treasure. Of 
those beautiful pictures, that hung upon her walls, all save one 
were naught to her. There was one towards which her tearful eye 
was ever turned, but tears could not bring back the beautiful ori- 
ginal. Cousin Fanny was childless ; and like Rachel she mourned 
and would not be comforted. " And this," thought Mrs. Gilbert, 
" is the discipline through which God says to Jier, ' Lay not up 
your treasure upon earth.' — To me the same voice comes with, 
' This is not your rest.' — So though our paths in life seem widel}^ 
apart, they are really convergent, and all along each are inscribed 
the same lessons of heavenly wisdom, — ^lessons so plain that 'he 
that runneth may read.' " 

As Mrs. Gilbert thought of these things, she suddenly recollected 



188 CARES AND COMFORTS. 

a paragraph entitled " Life's Discipline," which she had clipped 
from a paper weeks ago, and slipped into her husband's portfolio as 
she was sitting by his table one evening. She went in search of it, 
and opening the portfolio, her eye fell upon an unfinished letter of 
his to a bachelor brother. It was dated back some weeks, and as 
she ran over the page she read : — " You charge me with neglect, 
Howard ; but my dear brother, if you knew half my cares, your 
wonder would not be that I write so seldom, but that I do write at 
all. And this I am sure I should not do, were it not for a pair of 
extra hands that are at my service occasionally ; — weary they often 
are I dare say, when in such employ, but they perform my work 
patiently and well, and save me a world of drudgery ; for of all 
things, I hate the mechanical labor of writing. In this age of 
steam and telegraphs I am impatient to throw off thoughts faster 
than I can do by this slow process of transferring them. And apro- 
pos to this, let me say : Art thou a young man in search of a wife ? 
go up among the granite hills of our native state, and from some of 
those little hemmed-in valleys — or those shaded nooks which you 
and I know so well where to find, bring to your poor bachelor heart 
and home that primitive, but in this refined and refining age, that 
most rare plant, 'a help meet for man;' and if your cares are 
doubled, believe me Howard, the comforts of your life will more 
than make amends." 

Mrs. Gilbert shut the portfolio, and imperceptibly the burden 
upon her heart seemed to have removed. The scenes of the morn- 
ing wherein she might hope to have been a useful actor, returned to 
her memory ; and soon the noise of little pattering feet chimed in 
with merry tones and ringing laughter, and quite dissipated her 
gloomy reveries. Johnny had been round by the post office, and 
brought as he said, "lots of letters." The first, however, that 
attracted Mrs. Gilbert's attention, did not promise much entertain- 
ment. It was written upon ruled paper, without envelope or letter 
stamp, folded somewhat out of square, and with a large red wafer 
sticking out from the narrow double margin which was folded over, 
much resembling a single scarlet poppy, with one of its leaves 
missing. 

" Fishcrville, Iowa," read Mrs. Gilbert, " what kith or kin can 
we have there to send such a letter as this I wonder ?" She broke 



CARES AND COMFORTS. 189 



the seal, and from the heart of intricate foldings there dropped a 
five dollar bill.) The contents of the letter were as follows. 

Dear Madam, 

I have learnt within a week or two, that my daughter Sarah's 
school bill was left unpaid when we moved from your place more 
than two years ago. The child had the money sent by her to pay 
it, but she carelessly lost it, and so, of course, you never received 
it. I think you must 'av thought strange that I bein' a church 
member should let such a thing pass, but I hope this letter will 
explain all. It is a satisfaction to me to tell you that I trust the 
child has been led to see the wickedness of deceivin' us so long, and 
she wants you as well as her parents to forgive her. She says 
that some of the lessons you used to teach the girls about tellin' the 
truth have rung in her ears ever sense, and we can but hope that 
they have been blest to her everlastin' profit. 

" It may please you to hear that we are well and doin' well. A 
little church has been formed here, and John and Sarah have ktely 
united, though we have preachin' only a half a day once in four 
weeks. We remember you and your labors of love in the church in 
Prairieville, (where we were members a few months) and we pray God 
to bless it and the Institution for which I know our good brother, 
your husband, is willin' to spend and be spent." 
With great respect I remain 

Your humble Servant, 

Moses Talbot. 

There were several other letters with handsomer superscriptions, 
and done up in a more approved manner, but none that gave Mrs. 
Gilbert so much pleasure as this. She recalled the sigh breathed 
forth a few hours before, — " Oh ! that I could be of some use some- 
where," and gratefully recorded the privilege of having been per- 
mitted to write a few lessons of truth even on humble Sarah Tal- 
bot's heart; "for who knows," she thought, "but she may re-write 
them on young hearts in distant Iowa, and thus good be done of 
which I surely never dreamed," In what an unexpected mannei 
too, had she been enabled to meet Nilcha's demand. A new proof 
she thought, " that man's extremity is God's opportunity." 



190 PHYSICAL EDUCATION OF CHILDKEN. 



PHYSICAL EDUCATION OF CHILDREN. 

Physical Education — Food. — When we last left the infant, he 
had already begun to take animal as well as vegetable food, or, in 
other words, the food of "children of a larger growth." In En- 
gland, nursery diet is so excellent that this point will not detain us 
long. The classic mutton-chop, or the slice of plain boiled or roasted 
meat, should constitute the child's principal meal, with bread, vege- 
tables, and plain pudding. Bread and butter, with milk or milk and 
water, should form the other meals. No tea or coffee, no drink 
more stimulating than toast and water. We are prepared for the 
murmurings with which this may be received. What harm will a 
little tea or a little coffee do ? says one. Surely a little beer or a 
drop of wine cannot hurt a child ! says another. We first reply by 
asking if children want these stimulants ? Are they troubled with 
flagging energies, or have they experienced as yet wear and tear of 
mind ? With superabundant spirits, and a stomach capable of 
digesting their own shoes long before they could wear them out in 
the usual way, what stimulants can children possibly want ? It is 
not, however, only a question whether such stimulants are wanted^ 
.but whether they can with impunity be given to children ? To this 
we must reply, certainly not ; and their frequent use is in our 
opinion one cause of the prevailing fatality of diseases of the brain, 
which cannot at this early period be safely watered with diluted 
spirit. The chief stimulant which is useful to children is salt ; and 
if they have any tendency to worms, their food may be slightly 
flavoured with pepper, nutmeg, or cinnamon. 

In connexion with children's food, we must notice the importance 
of their being early taught to take it quietly, with cleanliness and 
without hurry. To insure this, it will be necessary for the mother 
always to be present at their meals. In this the poor, and women of 
moderate fortunes, are more blessed than those they sometimes envy ; 
for they see their children at all times, and can fashion them as 
they like, while the rich have many other occupations deemed more 
important; thougli we think that all might manage to preside over 
tlieir children's eai'ly dinner. 



PHYSICAL EDUCATION OF CHILDREN. 191 

Exercise. — In childhood there is generated an enormous amount 
of nervous power, or animal spirits, as it is generally called. Exer- 
cise carries off this redundant nervous energy ; it is the great safety- 
valve for the nervous system, so that to place a little child on a 
form, or in a corner, for any length of time, is actual barbarity ; 
and to make a habit of such a practice, would necessarily entail 
disease. Moreover, the constant exercise of children seems useful 
to enhance the activity of the nutritive functions, which proceed 
with such intense activity, that, while the muscles by their exercise 
withdraw the blood from the central organs, their very contractions 
increase the energy and amount of its flow ; so that the gambols of 
all young animals, and the games and sports of childhood, are as 
essential to their health as food and raiment, and the first seven 
years of human life should be one great holiday. 

Sleep. — The restless activity of childhood is a strong opiate, and 
soon steeps the child in oblivious sleep, which should be indulged in 
according to his age. Thus until three or four years of age the 
second sleep is advisable, and when that is relinquished the child 
should be allowed to sleep the whole 12 hours, or from 7 at night to 
the same hour in the morning. Every child should sleep in a sepa- 
rate bed, for it has been stated by Sanctorius that "• so very large 
are the steams which arise from persons in sleep, that not only the 
distempered communicate bad qualities to those who are well, but 
even the healthful, in lying together, affect one another." As this 
may be detrimental to the weakest child, it is well to let them sleep 
separately ; and as much as possible not to let little girls sleep with 
grown-up persons. We have often heard Dupuytren ascribe to this 
cause the habitual state of ill health of some of the little girls for 
whom he was consulted ; and he used to relate that their healtli 
often improved merely by adopting the separate bed system. There 
should be no fire in the bedroom, except in case of sickness. The 
benefit of breathing pure cool air during the long hours of the night 
should not be thrown away ; for heat naturally causes the atmos- 
phere to be impregnated with the effluvia of dirty clothes, and of 
the bed-clothes. If very cold, then there may be made, in the day- 
time, a fire, to be let out several hours before the time for sleep. — 
Tilt's Elements of Health, 



192 WHAT THE CHINESE DO. 



WHAT THE CHINESE DO. 



Dear Children: 

I fancy I see many bright eyes glance hastily over the index 
of the this new book just received, in search of something re- 
specting the heathen. Well, for once you shall not be disappointed. 

You have often heard about China, and perhaps have seen some 
of the beautiful silks which come from this great country, and may 
have been led to suppose that the place where such nice things come 
from must be very delightful. But if you should ever travel to this 
part of China, you would be disappointed. The sun, it is true, 
shines as brightly as it does in happy America, and the moon and 
stars too, are no less beautiful. But if you look at the houses, 
they are generally low, dark, comfortless looking places, crowded 
with throngs of dirty, ragged children. The streets are mere foot 
paths, generally paved with stones ; designed only for walking and 
carrying the sedan, though here and there persons are seen riding 
on horseback. If you look over the face of nature, your eye will 
often rest on beautiful green fields and gardens ; but these fields 
are generally chequered by cofiins, placed in every direction, with- 
out regard to order. The custom here prevails of placing the coffins 
with the dead on the ground, and are raised a little above it, instead 
of burying them. Sometimes they are covered with bricks, and 
sometimes with a mat ; but more frequently they have no cover- 
ing. Indeed, this country is one vast grave-yard. Whether your 
eye rests on the green vales, or climbs the most rugged heights, 
where nature displays her wildest forms, alike you see the resting- 
places of the dead. You will often wonder how human feet ever 
reached such craggy heights, and much more how they bear their 
dead there. 

Sometimes you will observe several little bundles tied up in mats 
and laid on the ground, or suspended from trees ; but more fre- 



WHAT THE CHINESE DO. 193 



quently you will see them floating on the river, or lodged on the 
shore by its side. These are dead children ! Many of them die 
from disease, but large numbers are destroyed by their own parents 
and grand-parents. It is no unusual thing to observe dogs feasting 
on children thus exposed. Of course they are often dragged from 
the mats that covered them, and left half eaten on the banks of the 
river, in full view of every passer-by. I once counted eleven thus 
lodged, in the space of half a mile, and that too on the public high- 
way where we walk daily. Indeed we seldom walk any considerable 
distance on the banks of the river, without seeing more or less dead 
children lying there, and very often the evidence is too plain that 
they died by violent hands. Such scenes the missionary's children 
must often witness, not to speak of others of a more demoralizing 
character. 

Here I would gladly stop ; but I seem to hear you say, " tell us 
something more about the heathen." Shall I then lift the vail from 
one or two dark scenes, and expose them to the light of Christian 
lands, that parents may feel more for heathen children, and that 
children may be more thankful for their own happy homes, and more 
desirous of giving the word of God to the heathen. You have heard 
it said that the heathen often put their own children to death ; but 
are you prepared to believe that it is sometimes done in sight, yes 
at the very door of the missionary ! It is too true. 

One morning about ten o'clock, two men were carrying a burden 
suspended on a pole between them, past the house of a missionary. 
On coming nearer it was found to be a man bound up in mats with 
his feet hanging out. The coolies were followed by a well-dressed 
man, past middle age, bearing a stone and rope. The poor, unhappy 
being thus borne along, was entreating in almost unearthly sounds 
that his life might be spared. But the father, (for he it was who 
bare the stone) was as unmoved as the flinty rock he held in his 
hands. They passed the missionary's house but a few rods, — in full 
view of the houses and on the public street, they stopped — tied the 
stone to the bundle, and plunged it into the river. After waiting a 
vshort time as if to see that there was no possibility of the miserable 
being's escape, they all turned back, and walked 03" as deliberately 
us if nothing had happened. It was said this grown up son was a 
wicked, bad man, and therefore the father had taken the above 
course, which is not very uncommon in such cases. A short time 



19i 



WHAT THE CHINESE DO. 



siiice, the feeble wailing of an infant attracted the attention of a 
missionary ladj. On reaching the place, between the street and 
her home, lay a parcel, not unlike those described above. On open- 
ing it she saw an infant of a few months old, with bright intelligent- 
looking eyes, but wasted to a perfect skeleton. Every thing was 
done which medical skill and care could devise ; but it was too late, 
the babe soon died. It was dressed in a clean new frock, and 
doubtless had belonged to some family of high standing. It was 
supposed the child had been gradually starved, (a practice of fre- 
quent occurrence here) and this day was brought to this place, a 
public ferry, to be thrown into the river. But the boatmen being 
more tender-hearted than the parents, would not suffer it to be 
done ; therefore it was left beside the street. 

A young woman having been detected in robbing a grave of some 
costly apparel which had been deposited with the corpse, (this is a 
common custom here) was shut up by her own family in a room, 
and kept without food until she died. These are rare cases, or 
rather it is not often that such cases are known to the missionary, 
for they make no stir or excitement among the heathen. 

I seem to hear you say this is a dark picture ! Yes heathenism 
is dark, all dark. Dark for this life — but oh ! how much more 
impenetrable darkness veils the future world ! The only light spots 
which appear in this dark land, are where some rays of gospel light 
have fallen. These are rendered more brilliant by the unbroken 
darkness which surrounds them. A few fathers have been converted, 
and are striving to bring up their children in the fear of God. 
There are also some few children in the different mission school?, 
who are lovely examples of early piety. A few such have already 
gone forth and assumed the duties of parents, and we trust will 
bring up their children in the fear of God. There are also many 
boys and girls with clean clothes and bright happy faces who are 
being taught in mission schools, who are daily reading the word of 
God, and listening to instruction from the missionaries. Many of 
them we trust, will be converted, and become lights in this dark land. 

That the perusal of this letter may lead many children in happy 
America to sympathize more deeply, and pray more earnestly 
for the heathen, is the prayer of 

Your sincere friend, 

E. A. GODDARD. 



THE OASIS. 195 



THE OASIS* 

ADDRESSED TO MRS. ELLEN H. B. MASOH. 

The memories of thine early home, 

come they not to thee, 
Often amid the twilight's fall. 

In lands beyond the sea ? 

Where forests wave of gorgeous bloom. 

And tropic flowers unfold, 
Yearns not thy heart the wild wood scenes. 

Of childhood to behold ? 

The old, green oak, and rustling pine. 

The willow-shaded streams. 
The moonlit frost, the snow-clad hills. 

Come they not back in dreams ? 

And more, the faces thou hast loved, 

The household names so dear, 
Has not some star of eve the power, 

To bring these memories near? 

Or has thy heart its resting place. 

Where falls thy daily lot ? 
And were they lines of love that traced, 

This little sheltered spot? 

Away, amid the far off realm. 

Where thou hast sought to roam. 
Are clustering joys as rich and dear, 

As in thy native home ? 

B'3t hear I not thy voice once more. 

E'en o'er the ocean wide ? 
" Sister, where'er our Saviour dwells. 

Must love and peace abide." 

*' The soul made one with him has joy, 
\ In suffering all his will ; 

Nought save his love divine hath power. 
The spirit's depths to fill." 

* " An <"'asi< in a TUiddlii-t Desert." b'^ing a view of the mission premises iu MaulmaiU; Bunmh. 
I)i:;wjii}: by Mrs. Ma.-;ou. A copy received by her dircctiou suggested the above. 



19G LETTERS TO YOUNG LADIES. 

" Sheltered beneath the Almighty wing, 
We hail that presence here ; 
Away in this strange, Eastern land, 

As in New England dear !" 



Mary A. Collier. 



LETTERS TO YOUNG LADIES. 

BY MRS. S. P. HODGE. 



When the season for amusement and gayety is over, or tLe hour 
for household duties is past, many of my young friends will exclaim, 
How shall w^e spend a lonely or vacant hour ? This is an important 
question, and much will depend upon its decision in the formation of 
your future character. 

It is at this time that I would call your attention to books. Look 
into the family library, (perhaps long neglected,) or the library of 
some friend, or some of the many bookstores that adorn our goodly 
land, for something that will interest you and be useful withal. His- 
tory and Biography will furnish just what you desire ; make these 
a study from your early years, and they will impart that intelligence 
and readiness in conversation that nothing else ran supply. Discard 
the novel from your society. It will rob you of all relish for books 
of an elevating and refining character, give a false coloring to the 
realities of life, and impart a sickly sentimentality that enfeebles the 
faculties of the mind, and distrusts thinking and intellii^ont friends. 

Allow yourself a little time for reading the daily or weekly news, 
and some of the most important periodicals. It is a mistaken notion 
that you can find beauty and purity of style in the romance alone. "VVe 
have literature of an elevating character that contains all the beautiful 
figures and varieties of style that can be found in any of the fiction 
served up in its most attractive form. Much of the poetry penned 
1)}^ some of our best writers, may be read, nay, studied with much 
profit and pleasure. By pursuing a regular course of reading you 

4 



LETTERS TO YOUNG LADIES. 197 



will lay up in store knowledge that will cheer the lonely hour, and 
ever be available. You will never be at a loss for employment, or 
troubled with ennui, neither will you suffer from embarrassment 
when you mingle with the intelligent and w^ell-informed. The little 
stream, small and feeble at its source, fed in its coui'se onward by 
numerous rivulets, becomes powerful and mighty, so it is with the 
mind, refreshed and strengthened by continual supplies of know- 
ledge. 

But, my dear young friends, do not stop here in your acquire- 
ments. Seek a knowledge of what is usually denominated the sci- 
ences, nor be so unwise as to begin with the highest, or ornamental 
branches first, as many unwittingly do. How absurd the idea to 
contemplate the erection of a magnificent edifice by commencing at 
the top. What could be done without first a foundation ? An edu- 
cation when well conducted and complete, may be compared to a 
beautiful building, w^here the parts are built up with order and sym- 
metry ; first, a solid foundation, then the brick, mortar, and wood- 
work, fitted in ; the different divisions all depending upon each other, 
and so adjusted as to make a complete whole. 

First, make yourselves familiar with the fundamental branches, 
reading, writing, spelling, geography, arithmetic, and English gram- 
mar. A deficiency in these can scarcely be pardoned in a young 
lady of any pretensions to an education. As you advance to the 
higher branches, include the ornamentals, music, drawing, painting, 
kc. They improve the taste, refine the mind, and furnish relaxation 
and entertainment, not only during the entire course of study, but 
through life. It is true they require long and patient practice, but 
she who has never used her brush in imitation of nature, can scarcely 
appreciate the rich and varied hues and delicate outlines of a natu- 
ral landscape, or admire the nice and skilful imitations of nature in 
art. If she has never cultivated a love for music, the sweet sounds 
in nature, from the insect tribe up to the human voice, the whis- 
tling of the wind, and the noisy tempest, the murmur of the gentle 
streamlet, and the roar of the mighty cataract, which to the culti- 
vated ear blend in one beautiful chorus, to her will be unappreciated 
and lost. 

The higher mathematics are by no means useless. Learn to fix 
your undivided attention upon the problems to be solved, and this 
same discipline of the mind will strengthen and improve the reason- 



IIKS LETTERS TO YUUXG LADIES. 

ing powers. The study of the natural sciences opens a wide and 
extensive field. Wherever jou go, whether at home or abroad, you 
will always find something to investigate. The analysis of a flower, 
the classification of earths, minerals, or shells ; or the varieties in 
the animal kingdom. Astronomy, presenting the starry firmament 
above in all its sparkling beauty and grandeur, will afi'ord ample op- 
portunity for much study and contemplation. Physiology will teach 
you the wonderful mechanism of the human frame, and of the entire 
animal kingdom. Chemistry, the beautiful combinations in nature 
and art. Philosophy, the laws by which nature is governed, on 
philosophical principles. Metaphysics will teach you the myste- 
rious operations of the human mind, and logic the ability to reason 
well. 

The languages should find a place in your studies, especially the 
Latin, as it is the basis of our own language. And the French lan- 
guage, so frequently introduced into the literature and music of the 
present day. 

This catalogue of studies may seem a long one, but a knowledge 
of them cannot be obtained in a month, or a year ; they require 
more or less attention through life. By patience and perseverance 
(qualities indispensable in woman) they will soon be relished, nay 
more, furnish a continual feast when the devotee of fashion and 
amusement will find many a useless and vacant hour. 




IX EVERYTHING GIVE THAXKS. 2™ TliESS. 5™ IB . 



THE MOTHER AND THE SON. 199 



THE MOTHER AND THE SON. 

BY REV. N. HERVEY. 

In Greenwood Cemetery, about midway of that beautiful resting 
place for the dead, is a tall monument, enclosed by an iron fence, 
containing the following brief memento of a Christian mother and 
her child. 

" Is it well with thee P Is it well with the child ? And she 
answered, It is well." 

As we gazed on the monument, while a few mourning friends stood 
around in apparent solemn thoughtfulness, we were never more 
impressed with the relation of the mother to the child, and the re- 
sponsibilities which rest upon her in imparting instruction both by 
precept and example, to the children which God has given her. 
Here lay the remains of the mother and the child beneath the cold 
earth, but if well with them, their happy spirits were praising God in 
Heaven. The first question is of the highest importance. Mother, 
' Is it well with thee f If thou hast made thy peace with God, and 
consecrated thyself to Him and to His service, then all is well ; and 
thou art prepared to labor in behalf of thy ofispring, with the 
promise of success, and with the divine assurance that it shall he 
well with them. How many mothers are there in Heaven whose 
prayers have been heard at the mercy seat, treasured up in the 
memory of the Father, and answered long, long after the lips which 
uttered those prayers were sealed in death. 

The other question, "Is it well with the child?" is of no less 
importance, and must come home to the mother's heart with that 
interest which no other question involves ; and well is it for children 
who have praying mothers. 

We have been struck with the interesting fact in reading the 
memoirs of pious men and women, that there is almost an insepara- 
ble connection between the conversion of the child, and the early 
religious instructions and prayers of Christian mothers. Often have 
we laid down the memoir and exclaimed " A mother s prayers are 
heard,'' This truth we propose to illustrate by a few testimonies 



200 THE MOTHER AND THE SON. 

out of the thousand that might be adduced, with the hope tha* 
mothers will be encouraged to pray earnestly and perseveringly for 
the conversion of their children. 

It is a question long since settled by actual facts, that the son, 
however wayward he may be, will listen to a mother's voice, and call 
to remembrance her prayers, even long after her voice may be 
silent in death, and her prayers for him cease. A young minister 
of the gospel, now an active laborer in the vineyard of the Lord, 
says : " At twelve years of age I had stood beside the couch of a 
dying mother, whose voice had often told me of Jesus, and whose 
prayers had constantly ascended for her first born. The hand which 
had led him to the Sabbath School was now motionless. With 
weeping eyes and a sad heart, the son saw the coffin placed in the 
grave." 

A few years had passed away, when this young man was led to 
make one honest effort for his soul's salvation. Having given him- 
self to Christ, he adds : " A mother's prayers were answered, though 
she did not live to witness the conversion of her son." 

Edward Payson, the devoted and successful Portland pastor, was 
a child of many prayers. From the nature of his father's profes- 
sional duties, his attention to Edward must have been less frequent 
than his mother's, and partaken in some degree of a more formal 
character. The recollections of his mother extend from very 
early childhood to his latest days. He has been heard to say that 
though she was solicitous that he might be liberally educated and be 
an accomplished scholar, yet he could distinctly see that her all-ab- 
sorbing thought respecting him was, that he might be a Christian. 
To this end she instructed him in early life, and followed up those 
instructions with fervent prayers. At the early age of three years 
he was known to call his mother by his bed-side to talk with her 
about God, and his relations to a future world. In a letter to his 
parents when in college, he writes thus : " To your admonitions and 
instructions I am indebted for all the moral and religious impres- 
sions which are imprinted on my mind, and which I hope will give 
me reason to bless you through all eternity." There is abundant 
testimony in the writings of Payson that he attributes his religious 
feelings, hopes, and usefulness in life, to early parental influences. 

Richard Cecil developed in early life a marked character. He 
was decided, daring, and authoritative; even his school-mates 



THE MOTHER AND THE SON. 201 



yielded implicit obedience to his commands. But there was united 
with his almost untameable spirit a generous and manly heart. His 
mother was pious, and did not fail to use the means for his spiritual 
welfare. He says : " My mother would put things in my way, and 
I could not get rid of them." When he was six years old, his mother 
gave him a little book, " Janeway's Token for Children." He says : 
" I was much affected on reading it. I wept over it. I got into a 
corner and prayed that I might be as happy as those little children." 
His early religious impressions wore away as he began to form 
acquaintances with young men into whose vices and follies he soon 
fell, and which was the cause of his gradual departure from his 
mother's admonitions. He began to avow infidel principles at quite 
an early age, though he afterwards confessed that he did not half 
believe them. 

Here was a painful passage in Cecil's early history ; and how 
must that praying mother feel, after all her counsels and prayers, to 
see the child of her deepest affections a leader in infidel principles ? 
Ah ! that mother believed in God — in the efficacy of prayer. She 
prayed more earnestly for her boy — and he has left a most impres- 
sive memorial of a mother's influence in preserving him, under God, 
from entirely believing a lie. " I was afraid," he says, " to read 
any author who treated Christianity in a wise and searching manner. 
Conscience would recall my early instructions and impressions, while 
my happiness could only consist with their obliteration." At one 
time he went with one of his associates to see persons caricatured, 
when in the personage of a woman was represented those persons who 
talk about religion. "My friend," he says, "laughed heartily, but, 
I could not, for I knew that I had a Christian mother." 

At one time when standing by the bed-side of a sick mother he 
asked her the question: "Are you not afraid to die?" "No, no !" 
she replied. " Why does not the uncertainty of another state give 
you no concern ?" " She looked me in the face," says Cecil, "with 
a holy and heavenly smile, which , cannot be effaced from my 
memory, and replied, ' Because God has said to me Fear not ; 
when thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee.' The 
remembrance of this scene has oftentimes since drawr an ardent 
prayer from me that I might die the death of the rightecus." 

Grace at last conquered the opposition of Cecil's heart, to the 
..I'uth of the gospel. The seed which was faithfully sown by the 



202 THE MOTHER AND THE SON. 



hand of a Christian mother, and watered with her tears in prayer, 
though it laid long buried in the heart, at length sprung up, and 
grew with astonishing vigor, and he stood out in the world a noble 
champion for God and His truth. Parental influence thus cleaves 
to the man, and a mother's prayers are heard and answered. 

Another striking illustration of a mother's influence is seen in the 
early history of Philip Doddridge, whose name is ever associated 
with " The Family Expositor" and the " Rise and Progress of Reli- 
gion in the Soul." He first saw the light in an obscure street in 
London, a frail flower then, for he was laid away soon after his 
birth as dead. He had a mother of earnest prayer and living piety. 
She taught her children to love the Scriptures, by describing the 
scenes in the Bible, in a familiar manner, on the old Dutch tiles 
which lined the chimney corner. Little did the mother of Dod- 
dridge anticipate his future career, when he reclined on her knee, 
followed the direction of her fingers in the Bible, and in childlike 
simplicity listened to the words of eternal life. When she laid her 
hand on his head and prayed that he might be a child of God, she 
did not know that God was preparing him, through her instrument- 
ality, to stand up in the pulpit at Northampton, on Castle Hill, and 
preach the gospel with so much success. 

Now when we look at the fruits of his labors as a faithful pastor for 
twenty-two years, and the direct influence of his writings over other 
minds, speaking continually after his decease — stimulating learned 
men to holy reflections, and quickening into life the languid piety 
of Christians : — when we see Wilberforce thoughtfully reading the 
" Rise and Progress of Religion in the Soul," which suggested his 
" Practical View," by which Legh Richmond was confirmed in his 
religious views, and led to Christ ; and when we see the fruit of 
Richmond's books and tracts growing in all lands, may we not 
praise God for Doddridge's praying mother ? Under his tutors, in 
connection with his pastoral labors, were two hundred young men, 
of whom one hundred and fifty entered the ministry, and through 
whose labors the great day alone will decide how many were brought 
to Christ. Besides all this, we read of the good man pleading with 
men outside of his own church, to found a charity school and coun- 
try hospital, on the basis of voluntary contributions. Baxter founded 
a college for the instruction of young men with the view of their 
preaching the gospel to the heathen. Boyle sustained Elliott in 



THE MOTHER AND THE SON. 203 

his mission among the Indians, and the devoted Moravians esta- 
blished societies in England, Scotland, and Denmark, for the pro- 
motion of the Gospel. But it was left to Doddridge to devise a 
plan for the furtherance of the gospel at home and abroad, and to 
lead the way for the formation of the Missionary Society. What 
multitudes will praise God for this association, which has so abun- 
dantly fertilized many of the waste places of the earth. And when 
Doddridge and his praying mother shall meet in Heaven, how great 
will be their joy amidst the multitude of seals to his ministry. 

The town of Northboro, Mass., was the birth-place of one of the 
first American missionaries to the East : and in his useful life and 
honorable work we see a striking illustration of the influence of a 
mother's early instructions. The mother of Luther Rice was a 
sterling woman. She possessed a vigorous mind and a pious heart. 
At a very early age she began to lead the mind of her little son to 
God and Heaven ; and to instruct him daily in the Scriptures. 
He was required to repeat, regularly, portions of the catechism and 
a verse from the Bible. He admits in subsequent years that the 
instructions given him by his mother in his juvenile days were 
among the most efficient means of grace in bringing him to Christ. 

About the time he came into public labor in the vineyard of 
Christ, the churches were sleeping over the command of Christ, to 
preach the Gospel to all nations. At this period no missionary had 
left this country for foreign lands. He felt the necessity of plant- 
ing the cross in the midst of the benighted. His whole soul was 
absorbed in the work ; and moved by the love of Christ for dying 
men, he resolved if the way were opened, to go himself and preach 
the Word of Life to the perishing millions. The results of his labors 
are intimately connected with the history of missions In Burmah. In 
a funeral address Dr. Chapin says, " The cause of missions in this 
country, owes more of its prosperity to the labors of Luther Rice 
than to any other individual." Through his untiring zeal the mis- 
sionary spirit was widely diffused among the churches, and a vigor- 
ous light enkindled upon the altar of Religion, which is now blessing 
distant nations of the land. His toils and prayers in behalf of the 
Columbian College, which has sent forth many valuable ministers of 
the Gospel, will never be forgotten. 

In the grave-yard of the Pine Pleasant church, Edgefield District, 
S. C, is a large marble slab, erected to the memory of the devoted 



204 THE MOTHER AND THE SON. 

missionary, on which is an appropriate inscription, a part of which 
reads thus — 

" If the Burmans have cause for gratitude towards Judson for a 
faithful version of God's Word, so they will through generations to 
come arise up and call Kice blessed ; for it was his eloquent appeals 
for the heathen in his return to America, which caused the Baptist 
churches to adopt the Burman mission, and sustain Judson in his 
arduous toils." 

How much has a mother's prayers and instructions to do with the 
great work, which has been accomplished, under the blessing of God, 
by the first American missionary to the East ? 

Previous to the birth of John Summerfield, his father was fre- 
quently heard to say that there was nothing he desired more than 
that he should have a son who should be a minister of the gospel of 
Christ ; and that his name might be called John. This desire was 
granted. The mother of Summerfield was a pious woman : nine 
children were committed to her charge, and for whom she devoted 
herself in training them up for Heaven. In the year 1811 she 
repaired to Liverpool for the benefit of her health. Here she died ; 
and for the last four months John was the only child who could be 
with her. On the 9th of August of the same year the spirit of this 
sainted mother departed this life, leaving to her friends the un- 
doubted evidence in her life and experience that she has gone to 
dwell with her Redeemer. John had been a child of many prayers, 
and of earnest paternal solicitude. He was especially afi'ected by 
the loss of his mother, and the circumstances of her death — the tran- 
quility, joy, and hope with which she left the scenes of earth were 
never efi"aced from his memory. He referred frequently to the 
dying scene in after life ; and when speaking in the pulpit of the 
redeemed in glory, he would most solemnly and afi'ectingly speak 

of his mother. The town where Mrs. S was buried became the 

residence of her son for a few years. He was then at the age of 
fifteen, the clerk of a large mercantile establishment. Away from 
home, without a mother's guiding influence, he fell into many temp- 
tations. He was late from home, spending his evenings at the 
theatre, the billiard room, and card table. About this time he was 
arrested in some degree from these vicious habits by a remarkable 
dream, in which he struggled hard with the temptations of Satan on 
one hand, and the convictions of duty on the other. Amidst all his 



1 



THE MOTHER AND THE SON. 205 

wanderings he was not without the deepest remorse of conscience. 
A father's counsels and a mother's prayers, together with her last 
admonitions on the dying bed, came up in remembrance before him. 
He was often known after a season of dissipation to remain for 
weeks in his study room, daily lamenting his follies and sins ; and 
several times a day would he prostrate himself before God on the 
floor, and weep bitterly over his waywardness. He experienced the 
greatest distress of mind, when he thought of the manner in which 
he had requited parental counsel and blessings. 

One day as he was wandering in the streets of Dublin, he was 
accosted by a pious man who gave him a tract, and invited him to 
attend a conference meeting at his own house. He promised to 
attend ; and when the evening came, John was present. The assem- 
bly consisted mostly of soldiers from the barracks. He was the sub- 
. ject of earnest prayer, and that evening he found peace in believing. 
He now formed new associations, and united with the Methodist class. 
His class-leader took special interest in Summerfield, and on leaving 
Dublin, as a Missionary to the West Indies, he said to one of the 
class : " Brother Lamb, I am going from you, perhaps never to 
return. Remember my request — take care of young brother Sum- 
merfield. He will one day shine in the world and in the church of 
Christ." 

A mother's prayers were answered, and a father's desire fulfilled. 
He became a preacher of the gospel, and with great success labored 
in Ireland, England, and America. His life was short, but devoted 
wholly to God. Of him it is said in carved letters on his monument : 

" Holy in life, ardent in love, and incessant in labor, he was 
fo the churcli a pattern, to sinful man an angel of mercy, to ^he 
world a hlessi7ig." 

Thus were the prayers of these pious parents heard. They are 
praising God in glory, and the joy of harvest is theirs, as the sheaves 
of Summerfield's labors are gathered into the kingdom of Jesus. 

John Frederick Oberlin, the pastor of a parish for half a century, 
acknowledges himself indebted to his Christian and accomplished 
mother for his love of the Scriptures, and for the desire he cherished 
in early life to dedicate himself to the cause of God. Her virtuous 
example and wise instructions were, in his case, crowned with the 
most gratifying success. She was accustomed every evening to read 
some portions of instructive books to her children, as they sat around 



206 THE MOTHER AND THE SON. 



tlie table copying pictures which their father had drawn for them. 
And when separating for the night, they made a general request of 
" dear mamma " to sing to them one of her beautiful hymns, which 
she readily complied with ; and then they all kneeled while she fer- 
vently prayed in their behalf. Under the influence of such a mother 
were the infant steps of Oberlin conducted to Christ. But she was 
not satisfied merely with her own personal influence in his behalf. 
When Lorentz was preaching a crucified Saviour to the multitude in 
Strasbourg, the mother of Oberlin became so impressed with his 
manner of preaching, that she urged John to go and hear him. He 
was at this period a student in the Theological class at the Univer- 
sity ; and, although he was warned against hearing Lorentz by his 
superiors, yet he acceded to his mother's request, and was so much 
interested in the man, that he became a regular attendant on his 
ministry. His religious impressions were much strengthened by 
this means, and at the age of twenty he consecrated himself to God. 

Let us now follow Oberlin in his missionary labors in the region 
of Ban de la Roche, which derives its name from the castle called La 
Roche, around which the district extends. It consists of two par- 
ishes, Rothau and Waldbach. At the latter place, Oberlin entered 
the parsonage for the first time, when in his 27th year. Here he 
looked over the mountains and vales of the future scenes of his 
labors ; an uninviting field to any one but to him who was ready, and 
willing to sacrifice all personal comfort for the good of others. Such 
a man was Oberlin, ready to consecrate all his acquisitions in science 
and religion to the physical and moral improvement of Waldbach. 
Here he toiled fifty-nine years, and even at the latest age, when the 
lamp of life was expiring, ceased not to console and bless the moun- 
taineers of Waldbach. Under the shade of a weeping willow planted 
over the grave of his son Henry, lies the mortal part of this distin- 
guished philanthropist, and faithful servant of Christ. " Our good 
father has left us," says the pastor of Goxviller, Rev. Mr. Braun- 
wald. " He has closed his earthly career in peace. It was Oberlin 
who instructed you and your children, who covered your dry rocks 
with fertile soil, who changed these hamlets into flourishing villages, 
who fed the poor in times of want, and protected the forsaken." 

Stonher and Oberlin raised up the schools and gathered the 
churches in these mountains. Oberlin rekindled the torch of faith, 
and threw new light in their dwellings by the gospel of Christ. The 



THE MOTHER AlsJ) THE SON. 207 

crowning glorj of all his efforts, and object of his solicitude, was the 
spiritual welfare of the people. In connection with his labors among 
this people, we may unite the Bible Societies of Strasbourg, Paris, 
and London ; also, the missionary institutions at Basle, through 
which the Scriptures were extensively circulated through barbarous 
nations. Now, as we review the life and services of Oberlin, we may 
exclaim, what hath God wrought by him who was the child of fervent 
prayers and the subject of early instructions from a devoted mother. 

John Foster was the son of pious parents. His father's motto 
was : " The noblest motive is the public good." At the family altar 
and in the prayer room he would earnestly cry, " Lord, bless the 
lads." To his mother's influence he attributes the elements which 
he received of his religious character. At an early age, when at the 
trade of weaving, he began to look to a higher destiny ; and at the 
age of seventeen he publicly professed his faith in Christ. As he 
believed he was called to the ministry, he commenced his classical 
studies under the tuition of Dr. Fawcett, in connection with William 
Ward, a missionary of the cross. After a short term of itineracy 
in preaching the gospel, he became the pastor of the Baptist church 
at Frome. Here " Foster's Essays " came to the light, and were 
ranked among the best works of English literature, passed through 
a number of editions, and are widely circulated throughout the 
world. After his pastoral relation ceased, he continued his labors 
as an evangelist, and at one time travelled a circuit embracing four- 
teen different places. 

These few illustrations of the influence of the religious family and 
the power of maternal instructions, perseverance and prayer, are 
sufficient, (though hundreds of others might be adduced) to stimu- 
late pious mothers to labor on for the salvation and usefulness of 
their children. Go, Christian mothers, to a throne of grace with 
the prayers of faith. Go, and lay thy children before that throne 
and plead the blood of Christ, which cleanseth from all sin in behalf 
of thy children. Are they obstinate, wayward, and heedless of thy 
tears and prayers ? Pray more and fervently for them ; for he who 
has said, "Ask, and ye shall receive," will not disappoint the pray- 
ing mother. 



108 CARES AND COMFORTS. 



CARES AND COMFORTS; 

OR, 

"Are you going to be in your study this evening?" asked Mrs. 
Gilbert of her husband, as they rose from the tea table. 

" No, not for an hour or two. Why ?" 

"■ I was thinking that we would divide the children this evening. I 
would take two, and you two. I want to write a little, and I cannot 
do it with them all around me ; though I think I could manage to 
get along with one or two : but if you are going out I will try to 
dispose of them in some way." 

" I should be glad to help you if I could, but I must go to that 
meeting this evening." 

" Well, let us see," said Mrs. Gilbert. She stood a moment, 
thoughtfully considering. 

"Well, what," said her husband. 

" I was thinking," she said, " about the best plan for the evening. 
You see it requires some skill to dispose of four children, so that 
they shall not trouble each other, nor be constantly interrupting 
me, and yet be profitably employed in something themselves." 

" Yes," said her husband, "set them to doing something; our 
children are allowed to waste too much of their time, for want of 
our attention." 

" Then, since you are not going to be in the study, I believe I 
will occupy it, and I will take Jimmy and Lizzie with me." 

" Mind you put the fox and the corn, not the goose and the corn 
together," said her husband 

"That's what troubles me," she said; "though I don't think it 
would do for any body else to suggest that we had a real goose in 
our flock."' 



CARES AND COMFORTS. 209 



*'But for all that, I think you find the corn missing pretty often," 
said he. 

"Not so often as she would," (said Johnny, aside, winking, and 
at the same time shaking his head roguishly,) " if I only had such a 
popper as Charley Brant has got." 

" There's Ward," Mrs. Gilbert continued, " he must study that 
declamation. He has it almost learned, but not quite ; and my 
son, I want you should have every qf, and, and the, just as it is in 
the book. It is a fine piece, and you can speak it well if you try." 

" But, mother, where shall I study ? I want to say that out loud, 
and grandma and cousin Carrie don't want me doing that here, I 
know." 

"Is the fire out in the dining room? go and see." He went, 
and instantly returned, saying, "Yes, it's as cold as Greenland, 
and as dark as Egypt there." 

Mrs. Gilbert thought a moment, but in that moment a new line of 
care was traced upon her already care-worn face. She thought of the 
rapidly diminishing wood pile — of her husband's anxious face and 
almost hopeless tone, as he had said that morning, " how am I, how 
am I to meet the expenses of this winter?" 

She thought of the meeting to which he was going ; it was a 
meeting of the trustees of the church to take new and decisive mea- 
sures about building a meeting house ; and in order to do this, they 
must pay, at least, three or four hundred dollars. To be sure Mr. 
Gilbert hoped to be able in the spring to sell from their little home- 
stead of eight or ten acres, on the outskirts of a western village, a 
couple of village lots to meet that call. He had devoted those lots 
to that purpose, though he very much needed the proceeds to pay 
off the mortgage on the rest. Mrs. Gilbert had been over with 
the calculations about diminishing the expenses of the family so 
many times, that it did not take her long to go through with 
them again, and to come to the same result. 

They must have fires ; that was certain. That it would be no 
economy for her to try to do without a girl, was as clear to her mind 
as a proposition in Euclid ; for her drawing and French class more 
than met the expenses of keeping a girl ; and then she felt that while 
her Dutch girl could wash dishes just as well, and a great deal faster 
than she could, there was a sphere which there were fewer to occupy, 
and which Nilcha could not fill so well as she could. Where should 

14 



210 CARES AND COMFORTS. 



she retrench in dress ? For twelve years she had not purchased a 
single dress more expensive than a two shilling de-laine or a half cotton 
cashmere. Her boys' clothes were old ones made over mostly, and 
she made them last as well as she could. It was true that they had 
a great deal of company. The cars seldom came in without bring- 
ing somebody. But there must be a home somewhere for Sabbath 
school and Bible, and Home missionary, and Foreign missionary 
agents. There were a great many strangers coming into the place 
all the time, good people, who took an interest in the prosperity of 
these little rising churches ; it was a privilege to entertain them, 
and often much good accrued to the church and institution from it. 
Yes, they must keep an open house. So her calculations ended just 
where they had begun, and in a much shorter time than we have 
taken to write them. 

" I'll tell you, Ward," she said at length, " what you can do ; you 
can go and sit by the kitchen table, and see by Nilcha's light." 

" Sit by the table where she is rattling her dishes at such a rate, 
mother ?" 

" Yes, and you may declaim as loud as you please ; you may 
fancy yourself Demosthenes upon the sea-shore, if it suits you." 

He went off, flourishing his book in a most patriotic manner, but 
as he raised his arm, the look of care upon the mother's face grew 
more serious still ; for the marks of decay on his coat sleeve caught 
her eye. Soon he must have another, how was it to be paid for ? 
how made ? Not a stitch could she sew in the evening, since that 
dreadful attack of neuralgia brought on entirely by overdoing ; and 
the avails of her drawing and French classes would no more than 
meet the expenses of the girl, and pay for the winter outfit the 
children had already had. But she raised a prayer to God that he 
would, through his grace, keep that upraised arm from crime, if not 
from tattered garments. ^'Lord, let my child live before thee," she 
breathed forth from her heart, " make him strong in the right, and 
brave for the truth." 

There was one more to be disposed of. Johnny had not learned 
his Sabbath school lesson ; so he was called, and the big Bible 
brought and opened upon the nursery table, in order that he might 
see by the one light which they could afford to keep. 

Half or three quarters of an hour had been consumed in these 
arrangements. The details had wearied her, and scattered the 



CARES AND COMFORTS. 211 



thoughts she had been longing to pen. With the two youngest 
children she at last escaped to the study ; thinking however of 
various unkind criticisms, and greatly exaggerated stories of the 
miserable housekeeping and neglected children of literary ladies. 

"Here, Lizzie," said Mrs. Gilbert, "you may have a piece of 
paper, and draw a house, or tree, or any thing you please, but you 
must not talk to me." 

And what should Jimmy have to keep him still ? A book with 
pictures was looked up for him, and the nearest place by mother's 
side assigned to him. 

Mrs. Gilbert placed her paper before her, dipped her pen in the 
ink, but the skein of thought was tangled ; it would not wind. The 
end she held led to but one sentence, but that was full of painful 
meaning ; — " our children are allowed to waste too much of their 
time for want of our attention." That our she knew meant your^ 
for her husband had sometimes said ; " 0, if I had your time, with 
no cares but a woman's pressing upon me, I could do something 
for our children." 

"I wonder if grandma or cousin Carrie will not help Johnny 
about his lesson," thought Mrs. Gilbert. But a voice only whis- 
pered in reply, " That mission is yours. Expect not another to do 
your work." She dropped her pen, went into the nursery and 
explained the lesson, and encouraged the dear child in his task. 
As she bent over him, she blest the voice that had sent her on this 
errand of duty rather than pleasure. For the holy words sunk into 
her heart. Her anxieties were quieted, her fears removed, and she 
went back to the study, feeling that perhaps after all, the cares 
which so often depressed her might contribute to her happiness as 
well as her good. If she had no burdens to bear, she could not 
know the sweet peace of casting them upon the Lord, nor taste the 
holy comfort of relying upon the blessed promises of his Word. 

She took np her pen again, and the subject that had of late so 
much engaged her thoughts came back to her. Her pen moved 
rapidly over the paper. She did not look up, but she knew that a 
bright blue eye was watching it. She did not need to look up ; for 
between that mother and child there was established an intelligence 
that was felt^ rather than communicated by word or look. If ever 
a shade of care, so slight that no one else noticed it, passed over 
face, a little arm was twined around her neck, and " mother, dear 



•212 CARES AND COMFORTS. 

mother" breathed so tenderly, so sincerely in her ear, that trouble 
and care were charmed away. 

"Mother, dear mother," said he, drawing a little closer, and look 
ing up anxiously in her face, at the first pause of her pen ; '^I want 
to ask you one question, just one ; I have been thinking about it, 
and thinking about it, and cannot understand it." 

'' Well, what is it, darling?" 

" I have been thinking that we shall live forever and forever ; 
only think of it, mother, forever. I cannot understand it. Can 
you understand it, mother ?" 

"No, my child, I cannot understand many things not half so 
difficult as that." 

The mother's ready answer had removed the injunction not to 
talk, and he went on ; 

" There is one thing more, mother, which I want to ask you.' 

"What is that, my little boy?" 

" When we die, and go up to God's door and knock, if we have 
been good, will he say we cannot enter ?" 

"No, my child." 

"What will he say?" 

" He will say ' come in ye blessed of my Father.' " 

" Come in, ye blessed of my Father," he repeated, slowly and 
thoughtfully, " I wish you would tell me what that means." 

"I cannot write for the Journal to-night," thought Mrs. Gilbert, 
" but perhaps I may write a line of God's truth upon the heart of 
this dear child, which he shall read, when this hand is mouldering 
in th^ dust ; yea, which I shall read with joy and rejoicing in hea- 
ven." And she laid down her pen, with which she had hoped to 
commune with kindred hearts, to commune with the heart of that 
dear child. 

" What is it to be a Christian ?" he next asked. 

"It is to believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, who died for us." 

" I am sure," he said, " that I believe on Him now, but I am not 
a Christian ; 0, mother, I wish I was ;" and his lips trembled, and 
the bright blue eyes were filled with tears. " But mother, will God 
forgive us when we have done wrong?" 

" Yes, if we are sorry for our sins, and ask him, for Christ's sake, 
to forgive them." 



CARES AND COxMFORTS. 218 



" For Christ's sake ; mother, what does that mean ? And why 
does father say it when he prays ?" 

The attention of both children was completely enlisted ; they had 
arisen on their feet, and were pressing to her side, and looking up 
anxiously into her face. And she told them the story of redeeming 
love — of the love of the Father in giving up the Son, — his only 
begotten and well beloved ; of the sufferings and humiliation of the 
Son ; of his crucifixion between two thieves ; of the revilings of the 
one, and the pardon and promise of glory given to the other. She 
told them of the resurrection of the Lord, his ascension into glory, 
and of his ability and willingness to save all who will come unto 
him. 

" But, mother, can it be that God will forgive thieves and such 
wicked men ?" asked the child. 

"Yes, my son, he says he is willing to save all who will come 
unto him." 

" All^ mother, all f those that crucified him and all ? I should 
not think he would, I should not think it could be." 

" Just then a step was heard in the entry, and Mr. Gilbert enter- 
ing, said ; " I think, my children, that father must claim his seat 
now ; and moreover father thinks it is time that such little ones 
were dreaming, so good night." 

When Mrs. Gilbert lay down to rest, she felt that she had done 
but very little for herself that day. Yery few and unimportant 
had been her intellectual acquisitions. From the gardens of litera- 
ture, in which a stroll would have delighted her as much as many 
a more privileged one, she had not been permitted to gather a 
single flower, not even a little " forget-me-not," to keep alive the 
memories of the past ; but she had learned much of life ; such as 
the active, earnest, and thoughtful will ever find it — a disciplinary 
school, where the Wise Master, in training his pupils, some by one 
course of discipline, some by another, ha^ less reference to the life 
that now is, than that which is to come. 



214 NIGHT. 



NIGHT. 

" There is no night there." 

Night ! solemn and mysterious night, with stars, 

And dew, and coolness, is upon the earth ! 

And as the darkness renders visible 

The stars unseen by day — so harsh, rude sounds 

Are hushed, and in their absence fainter tones 

Assume a strange distinctness. 

The very heart's pulsation seems to fall 

Audibly on the ear, and distant feet 

Startle the echoes into life, and seem 

Fearfully near. That far off light that streams 

So dimly through the curtain, burns beside 

The couch of pain, where listlessly and worn 

The watcher lingers, as the tide of life 

Ebbs slowly, faintly out. The very watch ' 

Hanging against the wall, ticks loud and harsh, 

With an unnatural tone ; and the dark boughs 

Droop with a deathlike stillness, stirring not 

A single leaf. 

The weary child, with arms 
Thrown back o'er dampened locks, whose parted lips 
Mutter its words of play again in dreams. 
Forgets its tiny cares, bearing not o'er 
Into to-morrow aught it knew to-day 
Of grief or pain. But the strong man, mature. 
The care-worn mother, take through sleep their cares, 
Bearing the burden of to-day along life's path, 
To add to-morrow other burdens still. 

* * -x- * -x- * 

There is no night in heaven ! What need of shade 
To dim a brightness that can weary not? 
What need of night where come no toil or pain, 
To make rest requisite ? Where childish feet 
May stray beside still waters lovingly 
With angel guides ; where pastures green and fair 
Invite to gentle wanderings ; where the streams 
Flowing from out God's throne through heavenly fields, 
Disseminate sweet dews ? 
What neod of night in heaven, where pain and tears 



THE DECISION. 215 



Are but a faint recurring memory 
Traced on the tablet of the misty past, 
Like other dim remembered things of earth ? 

There the Lord, God, 
Giveth all glorious light ; radiance untold — 
Before whose glory myriads of bright suns 
With light concentrated, compare not more 
Than doth a glow-worm's glitter, with high noon 
So through alternate light and shade we grope, 
Bearing a trace of both upon the soul ; 
Until admitted, purified and blest. 
Into that glorious day, replete with light, 
That needs no night to mark the lapse of time ! 



H. W, 



THE DECISION 



BY MBS. BAXTKB. 



" Mary, what makes you look so sadly to-night ?" said Mrs. Mill- 
ford to her little daughter, a girl some ten or twelve years of age, 
who had just returned from New York, where she had been spending 
a few weeks with a rich uncle. "It seems you have lost all your 
cheerfulness in that great city." 

" No, mama," said Mary, " but I was thinking how glad I should 
be if papa was rich like uncle James. And then, mama, 7/ou would 
not have to work so hard ; and, I should have plenty of money to 
spend, and such fine dresses too. Oh ! I should be so happy, so 
very happy." 

" But were you not happy Mary before you visited your uncle V* 

" Why, mama, I thought I was ; but I believe now, I was not. 
You know I have to rise very early and assist you in getting break- 
fast. There, when it was time to rise, the servant rang the bell ; 
then when we were dressed the bell rang again, and we all went 
down and partook of a well arranged and nicely prepared breakfast. 
Shortly after, the coachman was ready to take us out riding. Oh ! 
mama, how much I enjoyed this ; I was perfectly delighted — such 
fine streets, such splendid mansions — it really would do your hear* 
good to see them." 



210 THE DECISION. 



'' Stop, Mary," said Mrs. M ill ford ; "did your uncle thank God 
for his preserving care during the night, or ask his blessing on the 
good breakfast provided for his family ?" 

" Why, no, mama, and I must confess that I felt a little surprised 
at first that he did not." 

" Did you see nothing else that surprised you while there ?" 

*'Yes, I certainly did. A poor ragged boy came to the door one 
morning, saying he was very hungry, and his dear mother was 
sick, and had no one but him to care for her, or provide for her 
wants. He said they had been but a short time in this country, 
therefore had no kind friends to look to ; their last guinea was gone, 
and he had ventured out for the first time to seek relief. But uncle 
said, ' we have so many beggars ; do send the rascal away ; I have 
nothing for such worthless vagabonds.' I thought this was rather 
severe, and when I saw the little fellow wipe away the tears with 
his ragged sleeve, I could not help weeping. Uncle perceived this 
and said, * here Betty, give the urchin this,' handing her a quarter, 
' and tell him not to trouble us again.' " 

" And did their servants appear cheerful and happy ?" inquired 
Mrs. Millford. 

"They did not, indeed they did not," said Mary; "for, aunt 
was very fretful, and sometimes treated them with great unkindness, 
which made them ' pout and drone all day,' as she said. And be- 
side this, I noticed their extravagance, and felt like gathering up 
what they were throwing aside as useless, to give to the hungry and 
half-clad children in the street." 

"But, notwithstanding all this, you think you would be more 
happy, my child, to live in this splendid mansion with servants to 
attend you, than in this quiet home with your parents ?" 

" But, mama," said Mary, " uncle said if I were his child I should 
take lessons in music and dancing, and that he would soon make an 
accomplished lady of me." 

" My dear child," said Mrs. Millford, " I will make the case plain 
to you, and then leave you to decide." 

" Your uncle's highest ambition has ever been to acquire wealth. 
He has been wonderfully prospered, and is now living in splendor, 
enjoying that happiness which the world alone is capable of bestow- 
ing. He takes no thought for the future, but says to himself, ' Soul 
thou hast much goods laid up in store, take thine ease, eat, drink, 



THE THREE KINGDOMS OF NATURE. 217 

and be merry.' He has no sympathy for the poor and needy, as you 
have already seen ; and even the talented and pious portions of 
community are despised by him, unless accompanied by wealth. I 
often fear he is of that number, who will have all their good things 
in this world, and be left to mourn at the last, and say ' how have I 
hated instruction and despised reproof.' " 

"I have no doubt he would make you what he would term a splen- 
did lady. But this is not the object for which we were born. Our 
first wish should be to know and obey the will of our Heavenly Father ; 
then strive to be useful in the sphere in which Providence has placed 
us. There are many ways in which even the poor can benefit society. 
How often is the resident of some lowly hut referred to as a pattern 
of piety. The soul of such an individual is as a well watered gar- 
den, whose fragrance cheers the heart and invigorates the mind of 
the young Christian, as he enters on the ' way cast up for the ran- 
somed of the Lord. ' He believes the word of God, ' that having food 
and raiment we should be therewith content,' knowing that if our 
earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building 
of God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens." 

"Well," said Mary, " the question is decided. I shall remain at 
home and strive to be useful. And if I can only be as good and 
happy as my mama, I shall have reached the height of my ambition." 



THE THREE KINGDOMS OF NATURE. 

M. You have in your former Natural History lessons seen some- 
thing of the order which the great God makes in his works. To-day 
we will begin at the very beginning, and notice nature with much 
more care and minuteness. The Bible, you know, tells us that " In 
the beginning God created the heaven and the earth" — and, after 
He had made the firmament He said, " Let the waters under the 
heaven be gathered together unto one place, and let the dry land 
appear " — and it was so. Then this world consisted of broad plains, 
rocks, and tall mountains — the restless Ocean moving backward and 
■^rward — and the Air surrounding it. 



218 THE THREE KINGDOMS OP NATURE. 

But it was a dreary place, for it was not yet finished. This was 
only the third " day." 

How brown, how bare, and desolate the hills must have 
seemed as the light came across them ! The world was nothing but 
Earth, Water, Air, and Light. This was the first great division of 
God's works. Can you tell me why they were so dreary ? 

W. I can, mama. Because, none of these things had life. No 
wonder the hills were so brown, they had no grass on them. 

31. That was the reason. Now, there is a proper name for all 
these works of God, which were made without life. They are called 
Minerals. 

But in the course of that third day, there came springing up from 
the earth, millions and millions of little green blades, — all living and 
growing. And there were " trees yielding fruit after their kind." 
Now, the Earth looked more cheerful, but it was dreary, still. 

Io7i. Yes, the Earth had life in it, but not the sort of life we have. 
Every thing was quiet and still — it was "s^e7Zlife." 

The grass, and herbs, and trees formed another great division of 
God's works which were called — 

L. Vegetables. 

M. But on the fifth day there was music in the Earth. Through the 
Air, and on the Trees, flew " winged fowl," singing many a song. 
Through the Water swam "great whales " and fishes. On the sixth 
day there came " creeping things " upon the Earth, and " cattle 
after their kind." Thus the Creator made another great division to 
inhabit the Air, Water and Earth, which division we call — 

L. Animals. 

Thus, then, was the work of Nature divided into three great 
divisions. 

One, which had not life, called The Mineral Kingdom. 

And, two which have life, called The Vegetable Kingdom, and 
The Animal Kingdom. 

Let us talk a little more about these three " kingdoms." I have 
brought you a box containing something from each kingdom. Here 
is a small stone from the Mineral Kingdom. A small acorn, of the 
same size, from the Vegetable Kingdom. And, a small chrysalis, 
of nearly the same size, from the Animal Kingdom. 

L. They appear something like each other. 



THE THREE KIXGDOMS OF NATURE. 219 

M. But still, you know they are very different. There is, how- 
ever, something pleasing in each one. 

That Stone is very old, perhaps older than Adam. It has been 
a stone for thousands of years ! It will be the same stone during thou- 
sands of years to come. If it could know and speak, it might tell 
of many changes in Animals and Vegetables, but of no change in 
itself. 

If I "were to leave it in this box, here it would always remain ; and 
as the world rolled on, and ages of time passed away, we should 
change and decay — the box would crumble to dust, but here the 
stone would be ; it would never move nor change, but still be the same 
old stone. 

Ion. What fine old fellows stones are ! Ah ! I'll never kick a 
stone again. 

M. Then, — the Acorn. It does not seem very different, but some- 
where inside it, is the something we call life. If we were to put all three 
of these things in the ground, whilst the stone would remain stone, 
the Vegetable would — but, you shall hear what I once read in a book 
about a seed. Listen — 

" The Seed would swell and burst — it would put forth a root; and 
thus holding fast to the earth, it would push up a green shoot. The 
Shoot would rise above the ground ; and, feeding itself from the Air, 
Water, and Earth, would increase its thickness every year, and be- 
come a stately Tree. The Tree^ — spreading its branches far and 
wide into the air, and its roots into the soil, putting forth buds in 
the spring, which open to clothe it with leaves, and adorn it with 
blossoms — would then repay the earth for its bounties with a rich 
return of fruit and seed." 

" Continuing the same course for hundreds, or even thousands of 
years, it would remain an object of wonder and admiration to suc- 
cessive races of men — it would belong to many a tradition, and many 
a tale of the olden time handed down from father to son ; and thus 
it would be looked at with respect, or even veneration, — and still 
flourish, while generation after generation would pass away, and be 
forgotten." 

W. I like to hear that. Please, mama, let me run and put it in 
the ground at once. 

L. But, after all, mama, it would not last so long as the stone. 

M. Ko, for it has life. Every thing which has life will have death. 



-20 A NIGHT THREE THOUSAXD TEARS AGO. 



As soon as it is done growing, it begins to die. It reaches its glory 
— its fullness of life — then, little by little, it loses that life, and 
returns to dust again. 

Ion. And the Chrysalis, mama. If that were put in the ground ? 

M. That would become a butterfly. Soon it would show how 
much life it had ; much more life than that of the tree. It would 
not remain fixed to the Earth, but away it would fly — you know 
where ! over flowers, fields, and hills ! But, although it seems so full 
of life, that life is shorter — not so many hours as the tree numbers 
years. 

W. Ah, that is curious. The Animal, which is so full of life, 
changes soonest. The Vegetable does not change so soon. The 
Mineral, which has no life, never changes at all. 



A NIGHT THREE THOUSAND YEARS AGO. 



3. EMILIA PHELP 



A SWEET little boy lay in the soft sleep of innocent childhood. No 
brother or sister shared his quiet slumber, even the tender mother 
was not there, nor the fond father, to watch the calm repose of health 
and innocence. But the prayers of that pious, absent mother, 
envelope him like a cloud of mercy, and the very name she gave the 
boy, is a witness that her petitions are heard. What protection can 
a mother afford her helpless child like that of fervent, faithful 
prayer? He may be at the farthest possible distance from her on 
earth. He may be tossing on the heaving ocean, or hemmed in by 
eternal snows, or breathing airs of pestilence in burning tropics, but 
if her faithful heart is ascending in devout supplication for him, who 
can tell how that warm breath of hers may soothe the furious waves, 
or melt the icy barrier, or purify the tainted atmosphere about him ? 

The history of a mother's prayer has never yet been written. 
What a volume of wonders it will make ! It cannot be all trans- 
cribed until that mighty Angel shall descend, who with one foot upon 
the sea and one upon the land, shall close the last leaf. 

I have said this little sleeping boy was away from near kindred. 



A NIGHT THREE THOUSAND TEARS AGO. 221 

Yet, he was not alone ; an aged man was there, also laid down to 
rest. Many years had passed over his hoary head, and the light 
was almost quenched in his dimning eyes. With him all was mem- 
ory ; with the sweet child all was hope. Sunset clouds and deepen- 
ing twilight were about the one, and to the other all was purple 
dawn, struggling beauteously with gaining day. The hoary old man, 
weighed down with the trials and infirmities of years, and the buoy- 
ant, rosy boy, so radiant with hope and promise ! A touching sight 
it must have been to see them, sole companions in that solemn abode, 
more awful and more glorious than any other spot on the earth. 

Night had thrown her veil of soft beauty around that green sum- 
mit, and miles away on another verdant hill was the home of the 
boy's loving parents. The lofty duties of the day were over, and 
the aged pilgrim and the young cherub were alike laid down to 
repose. 

What is that, suddenly breaking the stillness ? An unknown 
guest is at the pallet of the little boy, and a kind voice is gently 
calling the youthful sleeper's name. The child springs lightly up 
and runs to the bed of his aged friend, to be surprised by the decla- 
ration that he came unsummoned. He returns wondering to his 
bed, to be called up again and again by those same solemn tones, 
"Samuel! Samuel !" It was not until he came for the third time 
to the bed-side of the aged saint, that the latter at last perceived 
whose were those august accents that had aroused the favored child. 
We can imagine with what awe, what reverential love the old man 
trembled as he tenderly bade the child return to his lowly couch, 
and humbly respond to the divine call. How the dear little one 
must have felt a sweet awe thrill through every fibre of his being as 
he listened to catch again the mysterious voice. 

Happy, happy child ! So early called by name of the great Jeho- 
vah ! So early visited by such exalted honor as to receive the 
Lord's word. And, thrice happy that thou didst immediately 
respond with a meek, obedient, loving heart. Three thousand 
years ago, that voice broke thy soft slumber, and thou hast never 
been deaf to it since. Thou art hearing it still ; even now thou art 
in His presence, not in the darkness of night, but where light is 
eternal ; not in a calm, green hill in Palestine, but in the empyrean 
heights, no longer a little child, but now a mighty angel. 

Who can say that the little cot of childhood is not sometimes thus 



222 THE BIRTHRIGHT OF AMERICAN YOUTH. 

visited, even now ? Loving mother, when you have listened to the 
artless prayer, and impressed the warm kiss upon the fragrant 
little cheek, guardian angels may take your place at that low bed- 
side ; and, far more, the still small voice may speak to that little 
heart until it shall hear and obey. 



THE BIRTHRIGHT OF AMERICAN YOUTH. 



Y REV. L. PABMELY. 



" The Fourth of July, 1776, will he the most remarkable epoch in the history 
of America. I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated by succeeding gene- 
rations as the great anniversary festival." 

John Adams, in a letter to his wife, July 7th, 1776. 

Independence Day ! The booming cannon and rattling fire- 
arms ! It is not the wrath of battle; but only echo-thunders, roHing 
back upon us from the great war-tempest of '76. Nor are these 
sounds now mingled with the cries of the wounded and groans of the 
dying, mournfully terrific, swelling up from the field of blood. The 
report of guns, and voice of artillery, that fall on our ears to-day, 
are all mellowed down into notes of enchanting music, and sweetly 
chime in with the glorious, triumphal anthem of our national jubilee. 

Upon the youth of America is conferred the noblest birthright in 
the whole world. The stars under which you were born beam with 
brightest promise, and kindle loftiest hope. The principles declared 
and defended by our forefathers, " amid the confused noise of war- 
riors, and garments rolled in blood," — the great principle, " tliat all 
men were created equals' is the broad and only foundation of true 
greatness. The war-guns of '76 exploded that long venerated theory, 
that royalty must flow alone through the veins of crowned lineage, 
and that princes could spring alone from the loins of kings. While 
in this land it is not possible for you to inherit a single drop of royal 
blood, yet in each of your bosoms is implanted the germ of a self- 
horn sovereign. Before you all, without any miserable and silly 



THE BIRTHRIGHT OF AMERICAN YOUTH. 



oo< 



distinction of ancestry or estate, is placed the brightest diadem of 
moral dignity, intellectual greatness, and civil honor. This country 
is, morally, a "/ree soiV empire. Here the young man — it matters 
not "whether his nursery was in the gilded palace or in the " low 
thatched cottage" — has before him the same privileges and induce- 
ments, and as wide and free an avenue to glory; and his grey 
hairs may possess the fresh dew of his country's benediction, and his 
name be enrolled among earth's true nobility. 

But while full and equal encouragement is before you all, without 
respect of rank or circumstance, still the prize is only for such as are 
willing to gird themselves unto the race ; and the diligent hand 
alone reaps the harvest-honor. In our land something more is 
requisite to constitute one a prince, than being born under a palace 
roof. Honorable parentage, or the tinsel of wealth, are not sufficient 
to place the royal crown upon a brainless head. It is only by fixed 
purpose, intense application, and invincible perseverance, that you 
can reach the heights of fame, and hang out your name to shine 
forever in the bright galaxy of national glory. Here we have no 
heirs apparent to the crown — the great men of America are self- 
made,^ You bring into the world no other nobility than that with 
which the God of nature has endowed you — sovereignty of mind — 
the sceptre of genius ; and in this freest, broadest field of action, 
you must become the architect of your own fortune — the master- 
builder of your own destiny. And now, in the morning glory of 
your waking energies, what a full chorus of inducements is inviting 
you forth to toil with the sure promise of a rich reward. 0, how 
many young men, in the old world, would this day leap for joy, to 
gain, even "with a great price," such privileges as belong to your 
birthright. With the halls of science, the council chambers of 
state, and the high places of empire all opening before you, let your 
motto be, "I will try" — the watchword that never lost a battle in 
the moral world — the true key-note to the great anthem of self-cor- 
onation. 

And while true greatness is gained only by mighty effort and per- 
severing toil, this very effort developes the intellectual powers — mind 
waxes stronger in the fight, and strengthens in every new struggle, 
establishing a firm independence of character, and bringing out the 
bold features of individuality; like the oak, whose roots struggle 
doAvn under the dark earth, and the crevices of the everlasting 



224 THE BIRTHRIGHT OF AMERICAN YOUTH. 

rocks, gaining a foundation of power, upon which it lifts up its head 
in towering majesty, defying the wrath of the wihiest tempest. In 
countries where rank is obtained on the easy terms of ancestry, and 
a man becomes a king simply because his father before him was one, 
nobility relaxes into indolence of spirit, and imbecility of intellect ; 
and royalty, with all its imposing honors, degenerates into mental 
dwarfishness, and the king's jester is often, really, a greater man 
than the crowned head. The great men of America are intrinsically 
great — independent of their civil honors, they possess the power of 
intellectual giants. 

And above all, let us remember that religion was the early har- 
binger, and continues the guardian angel of the American's birth- 
right. The note of religious freedom struck on the rock of Ply- 
mouth, and was the grand prelude to the swelling anthem of civil 
liberty. None surely can doubt that the voice of the Almighty 
moved on the dark waters of the revolutionary struggle, and that his 
hand was in that sublime destiny, which brought out on the blackest 
night of oppression, the brightest star of empire ! And now, the 
war-storm over, and the battle-thunder ceased, the precious blood 
of our forefathers that was poured out as a free shower upon the 
earth — those peerless drops are gathered over us in a bright bow 
of promise, spanning a continent, and resting on two oceans, attract- 
ing a world to "the land of the brave and home of the free." But 
the fear of God is the great keystone in this bow of national hope — 
take away this, and the sunlit arch will vanish into the blackness 
of a second moral deluge ! 



' Ocean of Time ! thy tiniest wavelet bears 
To fatal wreck some richly laden bark ; 

Oh, but for that bright star in Heaven which wears 
A brighter glory when the storm grows dark, 

But for the star of Bethlehem, how should we 

Direct our course o'er thy tempestuous sea !" 



DANCING. 225 



DANCING. 

It is not our purpose to commence a tirade against dancing, but 
merely to give a few thoughts on the oft repeated inquiry, Is it 
right for Christians to have their children taught to dance ? We 
have no feeling that there is any more sin in dancing than in trund- 
ling a hoop, or jumping a rope. It is a pleasant recreation, and if it 
can be practised in the same simple manner and unpretending cir- 
cumstances, for the purpose of imparting a healthful play to the 
physical organs, while it gives agility and grace to the movements, 
nothing could serve a better purpose, or be more innocent. We 
say if this could be. But, as Pollok says of the theatre ; 

* "Worthy men 

Maintained, it might be turned to good account; 
And so perhaps it might — but never was." 

If any, how few the instances, certainly in modern times. Tilt, 
in his " Elements of Health," says : " Dancing takes place at such 
late hours, and in such close rooms, that the disadvantages to be 
derived from it, are more than its advantages." 

But with the professed lovers of pleasure, those who desire to train 
their children to seek gratification in the things of earth, we will 
have no discussion now, and return to the inquiry, "is such a course 
right for Christians ?" There should always be an end in view — an 
object to be attained by the education of children. Why do they 
study the different sciences ? Why practise the arts and acquire 
trades ? Is it simply for exercise, or their present use or gratifica- 
tion ? Why are they drilled day after day on the construction of 
our own and other languages, and in mathematics, philosophy, chem- 
istry, &c., if not for future time ? for their benefit and practice when 
they become men and women ? And what is the end in view when 
we place our sons and daughters under the instruction of a dancing 
master ? What is the object to be attained ? 

We admit that it may be healthful exercise ; but when exercise is 
needed, nature dictates to the little boy or girl, a rush to some place 

15 



22G DANCING 



of unbounded freedom, for nerve, muscle, and voice ; to roam over 
the fields and through the woods, or to an unceremonious game of 
"hide and seek " — "jump and run " — " laugh and be happy." In 
our beautiful wide country there is ample space for this ; and except 
in crowded cities, and in those families where no labor is required 
of children, this plea for dancing seems vain. And in the city, 
would not all the healthful exercise which can possibly be obtained 
in a dancing-room, be found by the daughter in the performance of 
some necessary household duty, and by the son in a participation of 
those which more properly belong to him, or in constructing some 
article which could afibrd amusement or service. Then, what idea 
can take possession of the minds of children, as they are carefully 
arrayed and sent by their parents to be trained to trip to the sound 
of light music to and fro, round and round, if it be not the captivat- 
ing but delusive vision of splendidly decorated halls, fashionable 
attire, sumptuous entertainments, gay mirth, and the admiration of 
some beau ideal which awaits their graduation from this school of 
accomplishments ? To be the admired, flattered one of the ball-room, 
must be the prize in view. And is it consistent for Christian parents 
to start their children in such a race ? 

Another apology for this branch of education, is its necessity in 
order to give ease and grace to the movements, and a finish to 
the manners. One mother says, " Mary turns in her toes when she 
walks, and Sarah drops her shoulders forward and inclines her head, 
and no one can correct these habits like an accomplished dancing 
master." Beware, mother ! lest those feet step upon slippery places 
and take hold on death ; and that head become so bewildered by the 
blandishments of earthly pleasure, as to plunge from the giddy 
height into everlasting sorrow ! 

But is it to be admitted that refined and polished manners can be 
acquired no where else ? Is it true that none but a dancing master 
can teach a proper and graceful movement of the body ? That 
with him resides the secret of polite address and genteel demeanor 
when introduced to, or taking leave of company ? If so, then away 
with the hackneyed sentiment, that "A Christian is the highest 
style of man," " that true politeness is the overflowing of a kind, 
generous heart," and give to the wind our boastings of the refining, 
elevating influence of religion. Will you make the exchange and 
take the consequences ? As well might you plead the necessity of 



DANCING. 227 



sending your son who is preparing for the bar or pulpit, to take 
lessons on the stage, to qualify him to be an effective public speaker. 
Do you say that you have no fears of the consequences ? that you 
consider dancing an innocent amusement, as well as an important 
accomplishment, without which no young lady is prepared to enter 
society ? Yes, and methinks I see some mothers with this assertion 
on their lips, wending their way to the maternal meeting, where they 
will bow and plead with God to keep their children from temptation, 
to save them from the snares of Satan, and to have mercy on their 
souls. It cannot be possible that such have ever tested the witchery 
of the ball room — have ever experienced in themselves the power 
of a love for vain show which is nurtured there, or have ever realized 
the sad effect upon the mental, moral, and physical being which 
the unsuitable clothing, luxurious banqueting, and unseasonable 
hours, — the inseparable companions of the mazy dance, are calcu- 
lated to produce. Its tendency is only downward. There is nothing 
in its influence or associations calculated to elevate the moral feel- 
ings, or give expansion to the mind, or peace to the spirit. Its 
devotees are spell-bound, and just in proportion as they give them- 
selves to its giddy whirl, just so much less are they prepared to 
discharge the duties of life, or to appreciate its rational enjoyments. 
Of the truth of this the writer had, a few years ago, a striking 
illustration, while spending a few days at a large boarding house in 
New York. Day after day we met at the table the beautiful, accom- 
plished Mrs. McC. She was gay and fashionable. Her personal 
appearance was charming, and none could see her but to admire 
her. Yet those who knew her best, looked upon her as a whited 
sepulchre. Her husband, an amiable, intelligent, and sedate young 
man, was confined to his room and bed by a chronic disease, from 
which he suffered much, but not so much as from the neglect of his 
wife, who, though she loved him, was so infatuated by a love of gay 
pleasures, that she very often spent her nights at the cotillion party, 
rather than in administering to his comfort. During our stay a 
Storm came on, and at the close of day was so severe that no boarder 
ventured into the street after tea, either for business or pleasure. 
On such a cold, cheerless evening, the parlor seemed to promise the 
most of comfort, and the whole company were soon attracted 
thither by the influence of the bright coal fire in the grate. Cozily 
seated in a corner of the sofa, we decided to remain awhile, and 



228 DANCING. 



learn whatever lessons of life might be imparted. Music was first 
suggested, then dancing, and an hour or two spent by several ladies 
and gentlemen in waltzes and cotillions. The belle of the ball- 
room, Mrs. McC, was in high spirits. She sang, she laughed, she 
danced, until wearied, she sat down beside her last partner. She 
expressed to him her gratification at having such an evening at 
home. "Oh," said she, "it is so dull when I am obliged to spend 
an evening wholly with my husband, for he is so dispirited, ai ■! 
wants me to read to him ; but the books he prefers are not interest- 
ing to me." She then spoke of the delightful winter she had 
passed, — that she had never before attended so many balls and 
cotillion parties in one season. Her friend asked her if she never 
became tired and disgusted with such a continued round of gaiety ? 

" Oh !" she replied, " it is my life to dance. I am perfectly 
happy in a dancing room, — only, sometimes the question arises in 
my mind, what shall I do, when I get too old to dance." 

"Oh!" said her friend, as if he would relieve her mind from 
fear on that point, " you may not live to be old." 

With a look of deep and earnest anxiety, she replied, " Ah, that 
is more dreadful still; the thought of death horrifies me!" 

We heard no more. We know nothing of her subsequent history, 
or what has befallen her since. But that frank, heartfelt confession 
of a votary of pleasure is not forgotten ; and in view of it we ask : 
What Christian parents can deliberately place their children under 
influences which naturally lead to such a result, without incurring 
an awful responsibility ? Who, for a few mechanically polite airs, 
and a little youthful gratification, will take the risk of perhaps 
hearing from a beloved daughter's lips, after a series of years spent 
in fashionable dissipation, '^the thought of death horrifies me!" 

Mks. M. G. Clarke. 



A saving of two hours a day would add another entire month to 
our year ; and how much might be accomplished in a month ! He 
who informs me where I can find another month per annum, bestows 
upon me a better New Year's gift, than if he had brought me the 
fabulous alchvmist's stone, that was to transmute every thing it 



touched into gold. — Boardman. 



"there are no homes in burmah." 229 



"THERE ARE NO HOMES IN BURMAH." 

No homes ! oh ! what a dreary place, 

How very like a tomb ; 
Where not one spot in all the land 

Deseryes the name of home. 

No homes ! no sweet delightful hour 
When Love, with snowy wings, 

Around the hearth-stone and the heart 
A radiant halo flings ! 

No homes, where heavenly dews descend, 

In soft delicious showers ; 
Where bud and blossom all the year. 

Earth's fairest, sweetest flowers. 

No homes in Burmah ! painful thought, 

My soul in sadness cries, 
Is there no cure for heathen souls, 

No help beneath the skies ? 

The Book of Life shall soon dispel 

The darkness and the gloom, 
And plant on distant Burman shores, 

Full many a precious home. 



A. L. 



280 THE ORPHAN GIRL's PRAYER. 



THE OEPHAN GIRL'S PRAYER. 

Let me go to my home — I am weary of earth, 
Not a friend have I left in the land of my birth ; 
Let me go where the bright waters chime as they flow 
With the songs of the angels — there let me go. 

Let me go to my Father — I remember the day 
When the bell sadly tolled as they bore him away ; 
And I watched for his coming, when the sunlight grew low 
But he came to me never — to him let me go. 

Let me go to my Mother — she calls me away 
To the bower that is green with the garlands of May, 
And I know that her heart doth with love overflow 
For the last of her household — to her let me go. 

Let me go to my Sisters — I'm fading like them, 
And dark on my forehead is growing life's gem ; 
I shall love them above, as I loved them below. 
Their sweet voices call me — world, let me go. 

Let me go to my Brother — I wept when he died, 
And I longed to be laid in the grave by his side ; 
It's been night in my heart since they laid him so low, 
Earth's last tie was broken — to him let me go. 

Let me go to my home — as the lone mountain bird, 
To a sunnier clime when the bleak winds, are heard ; 
Let me go where the bright waters chime as they flow 
With the songs of the angels — there let me go ! 

AV. G. Browne. 



" Our Creator would not make this world a paradise, because he 
has prepared a far better home for His children ; and, link by link, 
He rends away the golden chains which bind the soul to earth, that 
He may use them to fasten it more securely above. It should not 
be said, that the frequent removal by distance or death, of those who 
are dear to us, is a proof that they ought not to have been so highly 
prized, and that we are called upon to dismiss them from our liearts. 
Oh no ! but Christian friendship is a foretaste of the communion of 
Baints above. There it will be perfected." 



FOREST FOUNTAIN, 



231 




FOEEST FOUNTAIN. 

Living fountain ever gushing 
From thy verdant fores c home, 

O'er the rocks thy water's rushing, 
Where the Indian hunters roam, 



Sparkling, dancing, ever glancing, 
In the sunlight's brilliant rays. 

Or thy streamings, softer gleaming. 
Where the gentle moonbeam plays. 



1^0 



FATHER m THE FAMILY. 



Angels in their earthly mission 
Here may stop their wings to lave, 

As they bear to Heaven's fruition 
Trembling spirits from the grave. 

Julia Gray. 



FATHER IN THE FAMILY. 



Home, without the father, is desolate in the extreme. He, by 
nature, is constituted the head, while the mother may be the heart 
of home. To him every well regulated family naturally looks for 
protection and guidance. He must stand at the domestic helm, 
while the mother, angel-like, faithfully watches the trembling needle, 
as the storms that threaten the domestic sea rise and break. Life 
is a troubled sea, and that family which sails it safely must have a 
strong arm at the wheel. The mother's influence is all pervading. 
Her presence is the light of home — the very dew of life. The 
father's influence, however, must be as widely felt. Indeed, he is 
the strength of home. His moral, intellectual, and social influence 
in every department, must be the controlling influence. He is the 
stafi' on which the mother must lean. He is the sturdy oak around 
which all the tender vines of the domestic garden cling ; and upon 
which they rest in the storm ; and on which they climb in the sun- 
shine. 

The Creator has wisely organized the family. It reflects the 
highest honor upon his wisdom and benevolence. He saw best that 
man, even in his strength and conscious independence, should be 
made so dependent, that he should not dwell alone. He then, not 
only made a demand for the fiimily, but actually created the family. 
The family thus formed was to be the most perfect specimen of 
organized society on earth. In this organization, so beautiful in 
order, so tender in love, so mighty in union, the father is made the 
head. Nothing is therefore more disastrous to the domestic circle 
than a loss of that headship. When the ruthless hand of sickness 
lays the father low, and the cruel grave hides the husband and 
lover in darkness, the family receives an overwhelming shock from 
which it often never recovers. Home sits solitary, and the widowed 
mother is mantled ^\ith desolation and grief, while the children 



FATHER IN THE FAMILY. 233 

left fatherless are often like tender branches torn from the main 
stock — or like ships at sea without the helm, driven to destruction 
bj the fierce winds. 

When any cause separates the father from home any considerable 
portion of time, the family necessarily suffers. He should be there, 
as the presiding mind. As well might the President of the United 
States be absent half or two-thirds of his time from the seat of 
government, and expect to see order and prosperity, as the father 
and head of the family to be constantly from his proper position. 
It may, however, be the duty (ff the father to be away from home, 
as the general out door agent and director of its interests, but at 
the same time too much care cannot be had to bring him often into 
the arms of his family. He needs the sweet and hallowed influences 
of home to distil like the dew upon his weary spirit. Oppressed as 
he often is with cares, or wearied with toiliug for bread for his chil- 
dren, or comforts for his home, he needs, more than words can 
express, the kind smile of his wife and the kiss of " welcome home" 
from his children. These repay him for his labors of love for them. 
What father cannot endure any heat by day, or any blast by night 
for his own dear family, if he is cherished by them ? If he feels 
the warm tide of domestic affection flowing freely and constantly 
around him. There is a greatness in man's heart, that naturally 
responds to the love of home. A greater mistake was never com- 
mitted than when the father is shut away from these warm affec- 
tions. Many a poor husband and father has been driven to 
desperation, from a want of care on the part of those who ought to 
love him, and perhaps do love him, in making him feel that home 
welcomes him. We are not advocates, however, of a welcome 
which exhausts itself in sickly fawning ; that is below the dignity 
of home. But we mean a careful arrangement on the part of all 
the members of his domestic circle, to make him see and feel that he 
is a part of that circle, and that they feel that it is strangely incom- 
plete without him. That " home were no home, if he be gone ;" and 
that he is taken into the account in all the plans which are made. 
That they depend upon him for instruction and counsel ; that they 
lean upon him as their support, while they are ready to pillow his 
weary head upon their bosom of affection. 

Nothing seems more destructive of the true interests of the family, 
than a sort of every day, practical divorcement, between the husband 



234 FATHER IN THE FAMILY. 

and wife — the father and his home. There are many fathers whjo seem 
to know little or nothing of the management or education of their chil- 
dren. They leave it all to the wife. They content themselves with 
simply knowing that their children are alive, and perhaps that they 
grow well, and appear finely dressed when they see them. But they 
often give their children less attention than many farmers do their 
flocks or herds. They are careful that they have good pasturage, 
and are well supplied with water. They are also careful to see that 
they are protected from the storms, and the destruction of heasts 
of prey. While many fathers leave their precious children almost 
entirely to the care of their mothers, or perhaps to nurses, or 
domestics, they seem to consider that their business, or pleasure, 
is of more importance to them than that of their children. They 
scarcely know whether they have suitable food or drink, to say 
nothing about the wants of their immortal nature. There is a kind 
of feeling in many families, that the father is out of his place, when 
he seeks to know, or even provide for the necessities of his family, 
unless it be to give them a good house and plenty of money. For 
the father to venture into the inner part of his home, is a gross 
blunder on his part, not to say an offence. He is almost as much a 
stranger to the fine web-work of home, as the mere agent of an 
establishment. There are certain out-door matters, which are proper 
for him to attend to, but to come into the life-circle of home, and 
sit in council on those influences, and help to adjust those causes, 
which are working out the joy or sorrow of that home, and which 
are forming the character of the family, it seems to be felt by 
many, is not to be the father's prerogative or privilege. But this 
view is both false and fatal. The nature of the father's relation is 
such as to bring him at once into sacred and delicate connection with 
his home ; not as nurse or as mother, but as the father and head he 
must be there, not to dictate, but to counsel — not to lord it, but to 
rule as an affectionate, intelligent father. But how can he do this, 
while he lives as many fathers do, in comparative ignorance of his 
famil}^, especially of its internal wants and arrangements ? There 
must be a mutual and constant understanding between the husband 
and wife, if the husband is to understand and feel enough of the 
responsibilities of home to enable him to be the father of his family, 
in the higher and better sense of the term. And not to fill this 
relation as it becomes a father, is fatal to the wife and mother as 



FATHER IN THE FAMILY. 235 

well as to the children. Indeed, it is fatal in all its consequences to 
the whole family. 

The mother, if she feels the duties and responsibilities of the 
family, as she must if she be intelligent and faithful, will be likely 
to crush under the weight of her duties, and become discouraged, and 
perhaps lose heart and health ; and if she does not sink into an 
early grave, will let go her nerve and power of control, and then 
the headship of the family is entirely gone. And the result becomes 
as completely destructive on children as it is on the mother. 
how many homes in our land are ruined for the want of an intelli- 
gent and affectionate superintendence of the father and husband. 
And besides, the result on the husband is almost equally destruc- 
tive; indeed in many instances as certainly ruinous as that on 
the rest of the family. 

The relations of husband and wife, of father and mother, demand 
this intimate, mutual, constant acquaintance of each other's toils — 
they must know each other's business. The husband must know 
his home in order to love it, and to be loved and felt in it. The 
wife must know the business and cares of her husband. We do not 
mean, of course, the details of that business, for that would be as 
impossible as it might be useless. But we do mean to say, that, in 
a well regulated family, the whole family knows enough of each 
department, as to create a common bond of sympathy. The wife 
understands the general business of her husband ; she often sits in 
council with him when any of its great outlines are to be drawn. 
Many wives have as high business talent as their husbands, and 
their judgment is as sound, and their conclusions can be as safely 
trusted. Indeed, many who seem to have little talent, would have 
much more, if they were allowed to exercise it more frequently. But 
from the fact that they are kept in ignorance of what the husband 
is doing, they become as dependent and as helpless as their babes. 
But this is false to the best interests of the family. It is robbing 
it of at least half its power. The mother may manage and live on 
without the sympathy and counsel of her husband in the great as 
well as the more minute questions of life. And the father may 
succeed in business, and accumulate property, and provide liberally 
to the end of life for his family. But after all, it is a kind of 
•nechanical life. It is destitute of the genial showers and refreshing 
dews that make home an oasis in this desert world. 

Father. 



236 WORDS OF CONSOLATION TO A BEREAVED MOTHER. 



WORDS OF CONSOLATION TO A BEREAVED MOTHER. 

BY EEV. JOHN BERG. 

" Grieve not, fond mother, for thy boy departed 
To brighter worlds. Shed no sad tears for him : 
Be not at his long absence heavy hearted ; 
Let not thine eye of faith and hope grow dim." 

The event over which you are called to mourn is one that wears 
the aspect of deep gloom and sadness. Your darling is no more. 
It has pleased our heavenly Father in his infinite wisdom to take 
that precious treasure from your fond embrace, which has caused a 
desolate void in your heart's tenderest affections. The infantile 
spirit has departed, and all that remains to be done is to perform 
the funeral obsequies, and consign the lifeless form to the cold and 
silent chamber appointed for all living. If there were no revelation 
which told of a future, this calamity would be a catastrophe irrepa- 
rable, a wound incurable, a dense dark shadow cast upon the family 
circle, without a solitary ray of hope breaking through that sable 
curtain. But thanks be to God, while in this world of sorrow and 
death, inspiration affords the cheering intelligence to mourning 
survivors, that, " Christ hath brought life and immortality to light 
by the gospel." We can even now see the beautiful beams of glory 
shooting through the far reaching shadows of the sepulchre, and 
that tomb where innocent infancy reposes in downy slumber, is 
radiant with celestial effulgence ; so that we may at once begin the 
transporting song, " Death where is thy sting ! grave where is 
thy victory!" To awaken us to serious though tfulness, and to put 
us upon our guard in this world of temptation, numerous admo- 
nitions are uttered in language distinct and solemn, and the very 
tomb becomes a monitor of silent eloquence. " The world is ^^' 
with the voices of the dead ; they speak to us in a thousand rei^ 
brances and associations ; though they are invisible, yet life is fillea 
with their presence. Their well remembered tone mingles with the 
whispering breezes, with the sound of the falling leaf, with the 
jubilee shout of the spring time. The earth is filled with their 



WORDS OF CONSOLATION TO A BEREAVED MOTHER. 237 

shadowy train," and from the region of silence, mother ! the 
departed one addresses you, " He being dead, yet speaketh." 

By the grave preying upon helpless infancy, the fearful truth is 
plainly and distinctly proclaimed, that sin has entered into the 
world, and as a consequence death reigns " over them who have not 
sinned after the similitude of Adam's transgression." The tender 
sapling is cut down as well as the full grown tree. Mortality 
is written upon irresponsible babes, because of original sin. But 
if because of the first Adam's trangression, death triumphs over 
them, the second Adam's sinlessness and triumph over death secures 
them life. Concerning all infants who sleep, we may confidently 
ajErm, " As in Adam all die, so in Christ shall all be made alive." 
By the mortality of infantile innocence, we are deeply impressed 
with the fact that the present state of existence is . a s<5ene of 
blighted hopes and withered joys. This world, however beautiful, 
is emphatically a "valley of Achor," "for earth of tears is full." 
How multiplied are the sources of grief and wo continually open 
to the family of man. Here no rose is without a thorn, no sky 
without a cloud, no honey without wormwood, no joy without 
sorrow, no pleasure without pain. But this truth is peculiarly 
realized in the removal of beloved objects, in whom our strongest 
and best afiections were centred, and most intensely so, when the 
stern hand of death snatches from a mother's arms a beloved child, 
it may be an only son, or one she wished most to retain, the one 
slif could spare the least, the one so intelligent, so affectionate, so 
lovable and lovely. Alas, that light step is heard no more, that 
laughing voice is silent, the intellectual fire which began to kindle in 
that eye, is all extinguished, that joyous spirit breathes not through 
its material framework, which is now as marble, pale, silent, and 
cold." The wing of the dark angel overshadows him ; his bright 
eye grew dim to earth ; he is gone to meditate in heaven. Although 
faith can say, "It is well," 

" Yet cold's the heart, and selfish is the bosom 

That feels no chord struck, when at morning hour, 
A budding rose we trusted to see blossom, 

No more sheds fragrance round its native bower, 
- But now is heaven's own flower.'' 

At the departure of a child of tender years the lesson silently 
whispered to a fond mother is, " Time is short." Human life, how- 



238 WORDS OF CONSOLATION TO A BEREAVED MOTHER. 

ever protracted, is comparatively of limited duration. It is an 
evaporating vapor, a feverish dream, a dissolving picture, a rapid 
pulsation, a declining shadow. It was exceedingly short to that 
departed one. It cannot be long to you — the language of your 
loved one departed is, "Mother, time is short." When, however, 
we contemplate death in connexion with Christianity, a bright 
future always rises to view, and the only cloud to obscure this 
brilliance, is the dark valley that must be trodden, ere that " far 
more exceeding and eternal weight of glory" can be attained. The 
only drawback to the delight which a view of Canaan inspires, is 
the Jordan which must be crossed in order to reach it. Yet these 
are not insurmountable, for the Christian's death song is, " Though 
I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no 
evil, for thou art with me," and faith fearlessly plunges into the 
river, leaning on the arm of him who hath said, "When thou 
passest through the waters, I will be with thee." Though the 
present world must ever be regarded as a region of mortality, where 
griefs and sorrows luxuriate, yet there is a land of perfection and 
felicity, 

" Where everlasting spring abides, 
And never fading flowers." 

Where no troubled voices echo from broken hearts ; where " all 
tears are wiped away from off all faces ;" where the loved and the 
lost meet, never more to be separated. There is one consolation 
to a bereaved mother's heart, when writhing beneath the lacerating 
stroke, which is as the diamond to all other gems, the most precious 
and valuable. It is that the disembodied spirit of her darling has 
gone to join an infant choir in heaven. There is an infant throng 
before the throne, who unceasingly glorify the Redeemer. Out of 
the mouths of babes and sucklings he perfects praise. God will 
have all ages composing the glorified family in heaven ; and all 
voices to take part in singing the "new song." The Saviour when 
on earth seemed to delight in this thought, and therefore said, 
" Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, 
for of such is the kingdom of God." And why should you wish to 
deprive the Saviour of that source of delight, obtained by the 
"travail of his soul," by retaining one of those celestial choristers 
on earth. Oh ! could you draw aside the veil, you would behold 



WORDS OF CONSOLATION TO A BEREAVED MOTHER. 239 

that sanctified host of infantile immortals, having taken their places 
near the throne, with angel voices which vie with Gabriel's, and 
music sweeter than the lyre of Orpheus, rehearsing the sublime 
anthem of redemption, and preparing for the jubilee of the uni- 
verse. In the midst of that delighted and perfected company, is 
your glorified child. When an inhabitant of this land of distance, 
surrounded with mists and shadows, and confined within the walls 
of an earthly tabernacle, that infant mind, if it knew any thing at 
all, had but a feeble and faint conception of redeeming love. But 
now the thick veil is removed from the mental vision, the shadows 
are all dispersed, the radiance of eternity now is unobscured. God's 
light now shines unclouded. Those intellectual faculties undeveloped 
on earth, are speedily developed in heaven, those capacities of the 
redeemed spirit, cramped here, are fully expanded there, and 
heavenly objects which on earth could only be seen " through a glass 
darkly," arc now beheld face to face. 

How much have you, Christian mother, to comfort you beneath 
the pressure of the present affliction. Let the consolations ofiered 
have their due influence. There are many sweets in this bitter cup, 
calculated to allay the fever of grief, and to banish the very thought 
of complaining. Forget not, that the child for whom you sorrow is 
not lost, but only gone a little while before. 

" Cease then to mourn ! thy loved one only sleepeth, 
And is not dead, for Christ hath burst the tomb, 
Yea, even now a watch perchance he keepeth, 
Thy guardian angel sent in days of gloom, 
Thy spirit to illume." 

It is true like some beautiful flower, just beginning to blossom, 
it is cut down ; but weep not, 

" The flower is transplanted — not dead, 
It blossoms in beauty and prime." 

You have now a lily flourishing in paradise, beautiful as the 
morning, and fragrant as Lebanon. You should rather rejoice 
that so sweet and delicate a flower is taken from the garden of 
earth, where chilling winds, and storms, and tempests swept over 
it, and where the withering blight could reach it, to the garden of 
heaven, where it is planted in a richer soil, and breathes a more 



240 . WORDS OF CONSOLATION TO A BEREAVED MOTHER. 

salubrious atmosphere, where it will expand, and put forth new 
beauties, through everlasting day. That little star, which just 
began to twinkle in this terrestrial hemisphere, now glitters and 
sparkles brilliantly in the celestial firmament. 

And there is much cause for gratitude and thanksgiving, that 
God in his infinite mercy spared your darling that fearful and 
fiery ordeal of human life, that great trial, which in passing through, 
so many fail, and instead of gaining the prize set before them, lose 
all. God however has seen fit to award him the prize, without 
passing through the usual competition. Instead of crossing the 
dangerous and stormy sea, that little bark, by a nearer way, has 
reached the port of immortality. Instead of continuing the myste- 
rious pilgrimage, and enduring the protracted fatigue of the wilder- 
ness, a heavenly chariot has been sent to convey him at once to the 
prepared mansion in that land of light. It is true you sustain a 
I'jss, which now seems irreparable, but with the sainted abbess of 
Port Royal, you must endeavor to feel that " a Christian should be 
ashamed of mourning any loss as irr.eparable, since he possesses 
God, who can more than fill the place of any and of every creature, 
although sorrow we must, whilst we remain in the twilight of sense, 
and in the weakness of the flesh, yet let not our sorrow be unworthy 
of our anticipations of future glory — of the sight of the assured 
hope of that eternal, and rapidly advancing bliss, which shall 
swallow up all grief in a flood of joy, glory, and praise." In 
removing your child, your heavenly Father has taken from you one 
of the jewels, with which you were entrusted, but it was his own. 
He lent it you for a little while, and now he asks you to return it : 
can you refuse to comply ? Bereaved mother, let no murmur or 
complaint find any place in your throbbing and almost disconsolate 
bosom ; but gracefully bow beneath the stroke, meekly, heroically, 
and triumphantly reply, " The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken 
away, blessed be the name of the Lord." 



SELF-IMPROVEMENT. 241 



SELF-IMPROVEMENT. 

Juliana M., at the age of eighteen, was all that could be desired 
in the family as a daily companion, with the exception of one un- 
comfortable trait — she was impatient and fretful. Her attachments 
were most ardent, and when overtaken by her besetting sin, she was 
often the next moment tender and relenting; she was moreover, 
capable of a self-denying devotion to her friends when any great 
occasion called it forth, which was truly disinterested and heroic. 
But her father sometimes said to her, " With you, my daughter, it is 
the little foxes that spoil the vines." It seemed to be the trifles of 
life, the daily annoyances of domestic concerns which she could not 
endure, and she had suffered herself to fall into such a habit of fret- 
fulne&s as to embitter her own life as well as that of her friends. 

Juliana's conscience was ill at ease in this matter. She felt that 
this was the one great defect in her character, and she trembled in 
view of the strength this habit was acquiring. Her mother's kind 
reproofs, and her father's judicious hints, and her brother's and 
sister's mingling of retort and raillery, all told more effectually on 
the heart and conscience of the poor offender than they were aware 
of, or than herself would admit at the time. When alone she often 
reflected that she was not contributing to the happiness of the family 
circle as she ought ; and then, in looking forward a little, as she had 
reason to anticipate, she saw herself placed in the midst of another 
circle, one in which she would be far more influential than in this, 
one to which her own example would give character and coloring — 
and she felt that she was making poor preparation for that change 
of position, and for the most responsible relations of life. She " re- 
solved, and re-resolved," but every day witnessed some failure in her 
efforts to improve. While Juliana was in this state of mind, her 
brother came to her one day with the request, that she would do a 
few moments' sewing for him. Just then she was fully engrossed in 
some other employment, and her first impulse was — not to refuse to 
do the favor, this was not her habit ; but, a little like Cowper's rab- 
bit which took his food 

" With a surly look, and if he could h'd bite," 

to complain of the interruption, either by look or tone of voice. She 

16 



242 SELF-IMPROYEMEXT. 



obeyed the impulse. At that moment William B. was seen entering 
the yard. ''Poor man!" said the brother, " doomed to bitter dis- 
appointment." ''0 too true !" said Juliana to herself — and had not 
circumstances prevented it, the strong and sudden revulsion of 
her feeling would have found vent in a flood of tears — " but 
it must not, it shall not be. I can correct this habit, and I will." 
Juliana had all along been too frank, and ingenuous to be mlling 
that William should be ignorant of the main defect in her disposi- 
tion. She had often told him that she had no patience, but he only 
smiled at her frankness, and, if he believed it to be really so, in the 
romance of his youthful love, her voluntary confession more than 
atoned for the fault. She saw that he was blinded by his affections, 
but this, to her mind, was far from releasing her from the obligation 
of becoming all that he esteemed her to be. Another thought often 
crossed her mind. Mary L. had formerly been a favorite with Wil- 
liam, and he had told Juliana that though, his heart had been reserved 
for her, Mary's sweet disposition once had no small attraction for 
him. "Shall the time ever come," said she mentally, "when Wil- 
liam may regret that he had not yielded to that attraction, and thus 
enjoyed through life the companionship of an amiable woman. No I 
no. It shall never be. I exercise as strong affection for my friends 
as Mary L. I will be as great a blessing to them. I am not as 
passive and easy as she is, because my sensibilities are more acute, 
but this shall be no excuse for irritability. This one fault cured, 
and dear father, and mother, brothers and sisters, and the compan- 
ions of my future years, will never be rendered unhappy by my 
impatience. I will make a stern, vigorous, and protracted effort ; 
and this work shall be accomplished long before I leave the roof of 
my fond parents. They who have suffered from the error, shall be 
blessed by the reform, and I will myself enjoy the opportunity of 
making some atonement for the past." 

This was not a languid, ineffectual desire with Juliana — it was 
not like past resolutions. She felt at this time that she was mis- 
tress of herself — that there was within her a power of self-control 
which should be exerted, and this thought wrought powerfully, send- 
ing its results down through all the course of her future years. 

She began by watching and guarding herself by the hour, then by 
the day. She sometimes failed, but on the whole she made progress, 
and she soon began to feci strengthened by her success. In a few 



CHRIST TS TENDER. 243 



weeks her mother spoke to her of the satisfaction with which she 
had observed an improvement in her habits. Juliana heard this with 
delighted surprise. Her resolutions and efforts had been closely con- 
fined to her own breast, and she could not realize that their effects 
had been so apparent to others ; but she now spoke freely of the 
struggle she was making, and received an aid which she had not 
anticipated in the delicate congratulations of her friends, often con- 
veyed by a mere glance or smile. Thus was the conquest obtained ; 
and it was a conquest which brought with it a long train of blessings. 
The self-respect, self-knowledge, and self-discipline acquired by the 
success of this effort were invaluable in after life. Juliana lived to 
need an uncommon share of patience, self-control, and self-reliance, 
and this doubtless was an important item in special training, which 
a watchful Providence always adapts to the exigencies yet to come. 
But who of all earth's sojourners has not to a great extent the same 
necessities ? Let me assure my youthful readers, that whatever may 
be their lot in life they will find great advantage in now turning 
many thoughts within, and adopting a course of rigid self-cultivation 
and improvement. 

L. L. H. 



CHRIST IS TENDER. 



" Christ is tender, and will not be offended at the dullness of his 
client. Some men can reveal their cause to their lawyers better than 
some others, and are more serviceable and handy in that affair than 
others. But, saith the Christian, ' I am dull and stupid that way : 
will not Christ be very shy of me because of this V Honest heart ! 
he hath a supply for thy defects in himself; and knoweth what thou 
wantest, and where the shoe pinches, though thou art not able dis- 
tinctly to open matters to him. The child is pricked with a pin, and 
lies crying in the mother's lap, but cannot show its mother where the 
pin is. But there is pity enough in the mother to supply this defect 
of the child. "Wherefore she undresses it, opens it, searches evei-y 
garment from head to foot of the child, and thus finds where the 
pin is. Thus will thy lawyer do ; he will search and find out thy 
difficulties ; and when Satan seeketh an advantage over thee, accord- 
ingly will provide his remedy." Banyan s Consoling Wo7-k. 



24 i TWILIGHT MUSINGS. 



TWILIGHT MUSINGS. 

Oh ! is there not in twilight's pensive hour 
A secret, saddening influence ? To my heart 
It brings the recollection of past scenes, 
Of sweet and holy interchange of thought, 
Binding two kindred minds in closer union, 
And making earth the vestibule of heaven. 
Memory, often false, proves now too true. 
And paints in vivid colors all the past. 
Contrasting with the present. Scenes of peace, 
Of love, and sweet domestic happiness. 
When the fond father took the rosy boy, 
And played with glee that made us all forget 
His more laborious duties ; bringing thus 
His unstrung nerves back to their wonted tone 
For further mental labor. Then the time, 
When wasting sickness laid some cherished one 
Upon the couch of pain, and weary nights 
And restless days had worn upon my spirit, 
Is brought from memory's store-house, and I see 
The anxious father bending o'er the couch, 
Striving, with even a mother's tenderness, 
To soothe the spirit of the suffering child. 
Bearing the precious burden in his arms. 
Soothing his wailings with a low-breathed hymn, 
Till sleep brings sweet oblivion of his pain. 

And well do I remember, when Death came, 
And withered on its stalk some little bud. 
How sweet submission filled the father's heart. 
Even while it bled beneath the afflictive stroke ; 
How words of consolation dropped like balm 
Upon my wounded heart, bidding me look 
To the celestial garden, where the bud 
Of hope and promise we had cherished here 
Was now expanding, in the glorious beams 
Of heavenly light — a plant of righteousness. 

The memories of the past come thronging back, 
'Till my brain almost whirls. I see again 
Four cherished ones, all numbered with the dead, 
And o'or thoir graves the rOv«e and pansay Ijloom, 
TiHiiied by a father's hand, 1 hoar the voice 



EMMA S VISIT TO THE COUNTRY. 



Of earnest supplication, that the stroke 
May fit us for our Heavenly Father's will. 
And then I see — ! saddest hour of all — 
The parent-stalk bending beneath the blast, 
The form we loved, all tenantless and cold, 
The soul it shrined, returned unto its God. 

I start — my listening ear would catch the sound 
Of those dear footsteps, as they cross the hall 
When day, with all its busy cares, is gone. 
I strain my eye to see the smile of love 
That rested on his face. Nought I behold, 
Save the dear pledges of our mutual love, 
"Who with a three-fold cord bind me to earth. 
Making, what else would seem a dreary waste, 
A scene of constant labor, love and care. 

L. B. L. 



EMMA'S VISIT TO THE COUNTEY. 

Written fox the Little Folks. 



T LOLA FLOWRET. 



One fine summer day as Emma was sitting by the window, reading 
a new book that her father had given her, she saw a carriage drive 
up to the door, from which a young man alighted, whom she recog- 
nized as her cousin Richard R., who lived in the country. 

Emma instantly forgot her book, and running to her mother ex- 
claimed, " Mother, cousin Richard Rogers has come. 0, I do won- 
der if he has not come after us ! don't you think he has, mama ? for 
he has brought his carriage, and there is no one in it but himself. 
You know he said, when he was here the other "tim^; that he would 
take us home with him some day, and now he has come, 0, 1 am so 
glad." 

Emma had always lived in a city, and nothing pleased hn: more 
than a visit to the country. Perhaps nature's lovely sr^-enes looked 
more beautiful and precious t^ her because she rarely saw them in 
all their beauty. Be that as it may, I know she loved them dearly, 
and often wished that she could always live among them, where the 



246 emma's visit to the couxtry. 

is'ild birds would wake her with their thrilling songs, as they built 
their nests among the tall green grass, or on the trees. Richard had 
surely come to take them to his home, as Emma predicted, and they 
were soon ready for the journey. 

" Good-by, papa," said Emma, kissing him, "we shall not begone 
a very long time, and when we get back I will tell you all about the 
country." 

"Good-by," said her father, smiling, "I expect you will be very 
wise when you get home again." 

On the way Emma's thoughts were much occupied, anticipating 
the meeting with her cousins, whom she had not seen for a long time, 
but that did not hinder her from enjoying the journey. The prairie 
was covered with tall grass and flowers of every hue, which waving 
in the breeze, that always sweeps across those vast, verdant plains, 
looked like the gentle undulations of the calm, deep sea. Such 
large, bright flowers, Emma thought she had never seen, and often 
when they passed clusters of beautiful flowers, she would uncon- 
sciously stretch forth her hand to pluck them. Once as they were 
ascending a mound, they saw a short distance from them, a herd of 
deer quietly grazing. As the sound of the carriage broke upon their 
ears, they raised their lofty heads and for a moment gazed steadily 
at it ; then turning and shaking their graceful antlers, bounded 
lightly away over the prairie, till lost in the distance. Would you 
not like to see a deer ? Perhaps some of you have seen them. A 
flock of these animals is a beautiful sight. The buck, with his lofty, 
branching antlers, his stately tread, and noble bearing ; the timid 
doe, the very emblem of gracefulness and modesty, and the sprightly, 
bounding, playful fawn. If you lived in the West, you might some- 
times see such sights. 

But to return to Emma. In the course of a few hours, they arrived 
at her aunt's, but it was so near night that she could not see much 
about the farm, but she soon became acquainted with her cousins, 
and found them very agreeable companions, so, of course, the eve- 
ning passed speedily, and she retired to rest with a light and thank- 
ful heart. In the morning she arose with mind and body refreshed, 
and returned thanks to God, for all his mercies and kindness, in 
having watched over her through the night, and in giving her so 
many things to make her happy, and kind friends to share her plea- 
sures with her. She then ran to her cousins, who went with her to 



Emma's visit to the coaNiRT. 247 

the garden, and showed her all the pretty flowers, on which the 
fresh dew-drops clustered, sparkling in the bright sun, like glitter- 
ing diamonds. She stayed long amid the lovely flowers, admiring 
their varied beauties, smelling their sweet fragrance, and culling a 
boquet, which she arranged and presented to her mother. 

The next that claimed Emma's attention were the fowls. There 
were a great many hens, some of which had large broods of chickens, 
to which they seemed very much attached. There were turkeys 
with flocks of little ones following them, every now and then utter- 
ing a plaintive ^ peep.' Then there were ducks and geese swimming 
in the little brook that ran through the farm, and some of these had 
young ones clustering around them. 0, such pretty little things ; 
the goslings all covered with soft yellow down, and the ducks varie- 
gated with dark and light ! How lovingly they nestled by their pa- 
rent's side ; now and then stretching up their little heads to gabble 
to her. Emma could not understand them, but she thought they 
must have said something pretty ; for the old goose would answer 
them kindly, and then the little things would dive under the water, 
chasing one another in their play, and shaking their tiny wings, as 
though they were very happy. One of Emma's cousins caught a 
gosling and gave it to her. The old goose seemed very much alarmed 
about it, she would stretch up her long neck, and look at the little 
one in Emma's hand, and then she would call it ; but the gosling did 
not seem to be afraid ; for it would put its little head up to Emma's, 
and gabble just as it did to the goose. 0, how Emma wished that 
she could have such pretty things ; how she would like to take care 
of them ! She did not hold the gosling very long, for she was a 
kind-hearted girl, and did not wish to give pain to any of God's 
creatures, and she saw that the goose was very much troubled con- 
cerning it. The ducks were much more sprightly than the goslings, 
and did not allow themselves to be caught, but Emma thought they 
looked as pretty playing in the water, as they would in her hand, 
and enjoyed themselves much better. 

Adjoining her uncle's house was a large orchard, through which ran 
the same crystal stream that the ducks and geese were swimming in. 
Often, accompanied by her cousins, would Emma wander among 
the ricn green trees, viewing with unbounded admiration the light 
green peaches, with a soft rose tinge just stealing over their downy 
cheeks ; or peeping at the tiny blue, white, or speckled eggs, that 



248 MOTHER. 



lay in the small soft nests, which the confiding birds had hung upon 
the trees. Often would she follow for hours the graceful Avindings 
of the clear, cool stream, watching the little fishes that sported in 
its sparkling waters, plucking the sweet wild flowers that grew on 
its banks, or gathering the smooth pebbles that lay like frozen 
tlower-buds in their watery bed. 

When weary with rambling they would sit down to rest on the 
soft green grass, beneath the branches of a fruit tree, and while its 
cool shade refreshed them, they would read a pleasant book, or 
spend the time in cheerful conversation. 

In this pleasing manner Emma spent several days, but so delight- 
fully had the time passed, bringing with it so many pleasing incidents, 
that she scarcely realized its rapid flight, and it was with feelings 
of deep regret that she prepared for her departure. She gave all 
the lovely scenes around the farm a parting visit, and with many 
thanks to her cousins, for their kindness in contributing so much to 
her enjoyment, and innumerable earnest invitations from them to 
come again, she departed for the city, well pleased with her country 
visit. 



MOTHER. 

^Tears have rolled away since these eyes looked their last, in this 
world, upon " Mother," yet I cannot now write the name, but it sends 
a thrill of joy and sorrow through my frame. Joy that I had such 
a mother ; sorrow that I was so soon deprived of her priceless coun- 
sel and sympathy. While I think of it, ere I am aware, my eyes 
fill with tears, and those tender chords of affection that bound me to 
her, vibrate again with all their wonted vigor, and she seems near 
me still. I hear her voice — I feel her hand upon my head — I see 
her, as once I did, and rejoice in her presence. But when my senses 
would realize the fact, I am like the man who has lost an arm ; he 
feels the hand, the fingers, as they were, though amputated years 
ago ; but when, with the other, he would touch it, 'tis not there. 

Oh, how indelibly does the mother stamp her moral precepts upon 
the hearts of her children ! Has she a tender conscience, venerating 
the word of God as its o??/^ guide? You may trust her children, if %he 



THE KEY TO THE HEART. 249 



lived to train them until they became active citizens. 'Tis true sin 
may hide for years, and seem to annihilate her principles, yet they 
are " like fire in the bones," as the prophet says, or like a pent vol- 
cano in the bosom. Sooner or later they will burn out, and the 
pastor or Christian teacher finds that the foundation for his work was 
laid years ago, in the prayers and tears of a faithful mother ; and 
he, under God, is only permitted to clear away a little of the rub- 
bish, and bring to light what that mother has done. I sometimes 
think it is well that mothers do not fully comprehend the power 
they possess; if they did they would sink under the weight of their 
responsibility. Oh, if there be any difi'erence, surely, nearest, and 
dearest to the Saviour's heart, is the patient, faithful, Christian 
mother. 

Seeing, in a recent publication, an article headed the 
" Door in the heart," I have endeavored to embody the sentiment 
with some additions and alterations in the following lines. Should 
they encourage any in a persevering labour of love, they will fulfil 
.their desired object. 

THE KEY TO THE HEART. 

No bandit on the mountain, 

No robber on the plain, 
Bat hath within a fountain. 

Of sympathy to gain. 

No tyrant o'er a nation. 

Though Nero were his name. 
No outcast in creation, 

But hath some sense of shame. 

No heart how hard soever. 

And callous'ed o'er by sin. 
But there we may discover. 

Some door to enter in. 

The way is often winding, 

That hidden door to reach ; 
Yet sure 'tis worth the finding, 

Salvation's truths to teach. 

Take with you constant kindness ; 

Be sympathy your guide — 
Not long you'll grope in blindn'^ss, 

The key is on your side. 



250 



EPITATH OY ^rY LTTTLT-: WILLY. 



Nine times in ten, I'll venture, 
A mother's name you'll find, 

Has been the key to enter, 
That door within the mind. 

Then bear thy burden, mother, 

Aye bear it patiently. 
Thy name is like no other, 

The heart's most sacred key. 

J. B. B. 



EPITAPH ON MY LITTLE WILL) 

Farewell, sweet boy ! thy gentle form 

"We here consign to peaceful rest : 

Early conveyed through life's rude storm, 

Thou ^rt gone to mingle with the Blest. 
As flowers that fade at opening day, 
Thus quickly hast thou passed away. 

Long will we fondly think of thee, — 

Yea, earth and time can ne'er destroy 

The freshness of thy memory, 

Tempered with gorrow and with joy. 
We mourn the ties thus early riven, — 
We Jot/ that thou art now in heaven. 

While bending o'er thy little grave, 

With meek submission may we say, 

" God's will be done ! — Our Father gave. 

Our Father took this child away. 
His own it was his right to claim ; 
And ever blessed be his name \" 

R. FUBMAW. 



A mother's trials. 251 



A MOTHER'S TRIALS. 

I ALWAYS read with interest any thing that is calculated to 
encourage mothers, or to impart instruction or advice with regard 
to the duties devolving upon them. And it is my wish to be person- 
ally benefitted by such instruction. But, notwithstanding this, I 
almost invariably think, when any thing of the kind comes under my 
notice, of the old adage : " It is easier to preach than it is to prac- 
tise." 

At the present time we hear much about the trials of mothers, 
with careless, negligent, bad servants, together with those which of 
course a mother must experience, if she has the care of her children. 
But there is a class of mothers who are seldom troubled with bad 
servants, who have not only the care of the family, but the work of 
the household to perform ; who are toiling day after day, and esteem 
it a privilege, if in the enjoyment of health. But they too, are sub- 
ject to pain and disease like others, and need our sympathy, and at 
times they have it, but are they not too much overlooked ? There 
is Mrs. S. for instance, the mother of five children. Her husband 
is a mechanic, and respected by his neighbors, but his income is not 
sufficient, with strict economy, to admit of keeping a servant. We 
will just glance at one day in her experience, (and not a washing- 
day either). The husband has arisen early in the morning, and says, 
" come Mary, I want my breakfast : I must be at the shop by such a 
time you know." Mrs. S. leaves her bed, weary, having scarcely slept 
an hour at a time through the night, on account of the children. 
She steps quietly out of the room for fear of disturbing the baby, 
and she sets herself about preparing the breakfast. Directly she 
hears the little one, for Kate has been hugging her little brother till 
she has made him cry, and he is not to be coaxed to lie any longer, 
but up he must get, and the mother must have him in her arms. The 
meal is on the table at last, and Mr. S. eats, and after a few words 
to the children, who by this time are up, he is away to the shop. 
The others are to be dressed, after which Mrs. S. calls them round 
tlie table, and waits upon them as well as she can, with the baby in 
her arms, and some of us can imagine how little she would eat her- 



A MOTHER S TRIALS. 



self in such circumstances. Time passes, and the older ones must 
go to school. They are washed, and brushed, but just at this mo- 
ment Willie happens to think that the teacher said that he must 
have a new book, and Sarah has broken her slate, and little Jane 
wants a pencil to mark with. The mother, with a promise to each, 
sees them start for school. She now scarcely knows what to do 
first ; the house must be put in order, and the dinner made ready. 
The husband comes home at the usual hour, and when seated at the 
table, the promise made to the children in the morning, is men- 
tioned. Mr. S. says, " well, really, there is something wanting all 
the while." The mother thinks it best to get the articles, but he is 
soon away again, and they are forgotten. She feels after dinner 
that she needs rest, but who will see to the little ones, and so she 
toils on till night. 

Willie and his sisters return from school. They have their sup- 
per, and after hearing them say their prayers, and seeing them in 
bed, the mother, with a pain in the head, and weary, and care-worn, 
seats herself by the cradle to repair a coat for her husband, who, by 
the by, is in a neighboring store talking and smoking his cigar, with 
his associates. The clock has struck ten, and Mrs. S. goes to see 
if all is right with the children, as is her practice before she retires. 
She finds one breathing hard, and with a hoarse cough ; she fears 
the croup. There is no time to be lost, and she immediately goes 
to doseing and bathing the child, with but little prospect of rest for 
her weary limbs, or her aching head. Who will not say that this 
mother needs sympathy ? Yes, and she has it ; there is a " friend 
that sticketh closer than a brother," and she can go to Him, and 
pour out her heart before Him, and ask for wisdom to direct, and 
strength to perform whatever is before her. 

Then, there is the wife of the intemperate man, who has her pecu- 
liar trials, and the widow, who has to support herself and children 
by her own industry. There are hundreds of mothers in these dif- 
ferent classes, who think no one cares for them, and who feel at times 
discouraged by reason of the roughness of the way. But, faint not, 
dear mothers ; bear with patience these trials, for if we are the chil- 
dren of God, " heirs of God, and joint heirs with Jesus Christ," 



" Our troubles and our trials here, 
Will only make us richer there, 
When we arrive at home." 

A. F. 



PHYSICAL EDUCATION OF CHILDREN. 



253 



GENERAL DIRECTIONS FOR THE PHYSICAL EDUCATION OF CHILDREN. 

DERIVED FROM THE GERMAN, AND ADAPTED TO THE AMERICAN 

POPULATION. 

Upon the subject of bathing we have first to observe, that the 
entire person, from the earliest infancy, should be kept pure and 
clean, in order that the pores which cover its surface, and with a 
magnifjing-glass may be seen like innumerable mouths, may be 
kept open. From them is constantly pouring forth the invisible 
perspiration, which is so necessary to the preservation of health, 
that if it is once entirely stopped it produces death — in partial 
stoppage produces what we call a cold or a fever, and its slightest 
obstruction is felt in some more or less disagreeable derangement of 
the system. The question now arises as to which is the best to 
clean the skin — warm or cold water. Let us take the magnifying- 
glass, and try : Strip one limb, put it in blood-warm water, and 
observe the effect ; — the pores open, the substance that filled them 
is dissolved ; use a little soap, rub a little, and then wipe dry, and 
all is as pure and free as possible. Now take another limb, put it 
in cold water, or dash cold water over it, and at once every pore is 
closed tight, puckered up, till with the naked eye we can see them. 
As to removing the dirt, the ostensible object of washing, that is 
for the most part held tight, pinched up, and if possible forced 
further and tighter into the pores. But if you will take a coarse 
towel and rub the limb smartly, the pores will again open, and the 
whole surface turn red and feel warm. It proves the mercy of 
Providence that it is so, or the first shower-bath a man took would 
have been the death of him. 

The present mania for cold bathing has gone to such wild extremes, 
that persons seem to think that man, after all, would do better to 
live in the water. It would be hardly surprising to hear the Creator 
accused of having curtailed him of "his just proportions," in not 
having bestowed fins, scales, and some other little appendages of a 
like nature, to enable him to indulge more freely in his favorite 



254 PHYSICAL EDUCATION FOR CHILDREN. 

pastime. They think it is some new thing. It is the novelty 
attracts many ; and yet twenty-six centuries ago, Thales declared 
" water to be the first principle of all things" — a declaration that 
does not seem to have made much impression on the world till the 
present day ; for, notwithstanding the great name attached to it, 
man obstinately clung to terra firma till this nineteenth century, 
when we find him all afloat. We are in danger of seeing all our 
fair ones turn Undines, and our dandies Halabrands. 

Dr. Combe says that water is one of the most powerful agents 
known for the removal of disease, but that, like all other powerful 
remedies, it must be used with great caution — the state of the 
patient must be exactly and certainly known ; for that, if generally 
resorted to, in nine cases out of ten its effects would be in the 
highest degree injurious. A physician, in extensive practice in this 
country, states, that he attributes the great prevalence of disease 
of the heart at the present day to the constant use of the shower- 
bath, for it acted in this way : " When the water was first dashed 
all the blood retreated at once to the heart, and a consequent chill 
was felt. But then the patient will say : '■ Such a delightful glow 
succeeds, and I feel so warm after it that it is delightful.' But 
little does he dream how this glow is produced. While the chill is 
on the blood is all in and about the heart, and the organ makes a 
mighty effort, and throws it off again to the extremities. This 
effort it can make on an emergency, for nature provides even for 
accidents ; but if the heart is called upon to make this extraordinary 
and uncommon effort, in the lapse of months or years its powers 
begin to fail, irregularity of circulation, palpitations, &c., are felt — 
in short, the heart is diseased — a disease altogether beyond the 
reach of medicine. But the shower-bath is never once thought of 
as the cause." 

We were particularly struck by these remarks, coming as they 
did from an American, because six years before, we chanced to be 
in a part of Germany where just such a mania for cold water pre- 
vailed as is now running its course in the United States, and we 
had heard it remarked in a company of medical professors that 
complaints of the heart would be the result if the practice was not 
put a stop to ; at the same time they described its action on the 
system ill almost the same wa}^ the American now did. There is 
notliing that conduces more to the health of a family, and nothing 



THE INFLUENCE OF TRIFLES. 255 

SO safe, as to put each of its young members every day into a tub 
of water just blood warm, (always try it with a thermometer,) rub 
them a little with a sponge, wipe dry, and dress warm. Do it in 
a room where the thermometer is above sixty-five degrees, and not 
till two hours after eating, and no harm will ever arise from it. 
Ten o'clock in the morning, or five in the afternoon, are the best 
hours. Pussy and the cow admire, too, the tepid bath, whenever 
they are at leisure. I suppose human mothers will do the same. 
However, here we bipeds have some signal advantages — for instance, 
substituting the sponge and warm water, for the tongue and saliva. 
— Mrs. Whittelsey's Magazine. 



THE INFLUENCE OF TRIFLES. 

"Trifles may have no trivial influence," is the language of one of 
our own most talented authors, when speaking of the literature of our 
country. It is the sentiment of one whose purity of thought and 
character, and whose deep and thorough acquaintance with the world, 
added to his high literary attainments, have well prepared to be a 
competent judge ; and our own experience furnishes abundant proofs 
of its truth. Even in the simplest and most common occurrences of 
life, how often do we see this principle most forcibly illustrated, not 
only in the fearful consequences which follow some trifling act, but in 
the happy eff'ects which flow from some very slight cause ; so slight 
perhaps, that, at the time, it passed unnoticed. Thus by one single 
act, or it may be by a word, a train of influences may be set in mo- 
tion, which will not only leave their indelible ^'footprints on the sands 
of time," but, like the onward course of the rolling river, they will 
flow, deepening and widening, until they can be fathomed only in 
eternity. A single spark carried from the chimney of some retired 
cottage by the wind, and lodged on some dry roof in the heart of 
one of our great cities, may be fanned by the breeze, which is so re- 
freshing to the wearied and fevered brows of its inmates, into a 
flame, that spreading with increased rapidity and force by every ad- 
ditional combustible it meets, will soon defy all efibrt to check its 
course, till scores of buildings are swept down before it, swallowing 



2!J6 THE INFLUENCE OF TRIFLES. 



up in their ruins many human beings, who, but an hour before, were 
buoyant with bright hopes and cheerful anticipations, thus bring! n<r 
keen disappointment and bitter anguish to many a happy hearth, and 
extinguishing the light in many a dwelling. The captain of a steam- 
boat, or the conductor on a railroad, may deem it a trifling offence 
to order an increase of speed beyond the usual and proper limits, 
and the engineer deem it equally as light a thing to neglect for :i 
moment to keep his faithful watch, but the most fearful consequences 
may result from those careless acts, as the late disasters loudly and 
impressively declare. Just so it is on the other side of the scales. 
Some slight act of kindness may send a thrill of joy to the saddened 
heart, and kindle hopes and aspirations that have long been crushed 
by adverse storms, and a kind and cheering word impart life and vigor 
to the slumbering faculties of the mind in which perchance is the 
germ of true greatness, waiting only for the refreshing dews of en- 
couragement to enable it to burst its prison-house, and develop its 
beauty and strength. Truly has it been said, 

* There is nothing in the earth so small that it may not produce great things, 
And no swerving from a right line, that may not lead eternally astray. 
A landmark tree was once a seed ; and the dust in the balance maketh a differ- 
And the cairn is heaped high by each one flinging a pebble ; [ence, 

The dangerous bar in the harbor's mouth is onli/ grains of sand. 
And the shoal that hath wrecked a navy, the work of a colony of worms. 
Yea, and a despicable gnat may madden the mighty elephant, 
And the living rock is worn by the diligent flow of the brook. 
A spark is a molecule of matter, yet may it kindle the world. 
Vast is the mighty ocean but drops have made it vast. 
Despise not then a small thing either for evil or for good. 
For a look may work thy ruin, or a word create thy wrath. 
The walking this way or that, the casual stopping or hastening, 
Hath saved life and destroyed it, hath cast down and built up fortune." 

If such are the effects flowing from trivial causes does it not be- 
come us to look well to the moral influence we are exerting, espe 
cially those who sustain the high and sacred station of mothers. The 
intimate relation we sustain to our children, the daily and hourly in- 
tercourse we hold with them, gives us an influence, which no one else 
can, or should exert. The mind of the child is like the block of 
marble in the hands of the artist, on which every word, look and act, 
leaves its impressions with a permanency which time can never ef- 
face. But ah! sad as is the thought,, how many seem perfectly un- 



A LEAF FROM A STEPMOTHER'S JOURNAL. 257 

conscious of the fact that their conduct, their habits, and even their 
manners are leaving an indelible impress upon the group of imitators 
that gather around them, and appear to feel and believe that acts and 
words once dropped are buried in the dark waters of oblivion. 
Would that mothers could be aroused to a keener sense of their re- 
sponsibilities, and remember that the memory of their child is a liv- 
ing marble, and bears an imperishable record that will be read, and 
re-read, even till "the hoary head " adds "the crown of glory," and 
that early impressions engraven upon it are as lasting as if stamped 
upon adamant, and often give character to the whole life. Who can 
estimate a mother's influence ? J. P. G. 



A LEAF FROM A STEP-MOTHER^S JOURNAL. 

April 6th. What a responsibility have I assumed, since last 
opening the leaves of this little book. A wife and a mother now, 
and I have promised my conscience and my God to discharge faith- 
fully the obligations pertaining to these relations. May He, by 
his needful grace, aid me to keep the important promise. I do not 
anticipate so much of difficulty in performing my duty to my hus- 
band. But these children, so easily impressed, and to whom right- 
ful guidance is of such immense importance, who need in their 
maternal guide so much of wisdom, care, and patience, and above all 
the uniform light of a lovely, consistent example. Ah, I need 
increase of faith to be unto them all that my Divine Director 
requires me to be. I may doubtless learn much to aid me in their 
guidance, by carefully noting his dealings with myself — lessons of 
love and forbearance, from the tender love and long-sufi'ering which 
he has never wearied of exercising in my behalf. If, in firm but 
humble trust, I make him my exemplar, I shall ever act toward my 
children from the all-controlling and abiding principle of love. 

May 9th. These conjugal and maternal duties leave little time 
for journalizing. It is nearly a month since I greeted my diary 
with even a simple "How d'ye do." In the interval my husband 
has subscribed for the Mothers' Journal for me, and I consider it a 
very valuable present, and think it ought to be found in every 

17 



258 GENTLE WORDS. 



family. The contents prove very valuable, and very interesting. 
How my heart responded to "Alice Raymond's Security." And 
the children took great pleasure in guessing the allegory out. Mary 
read "The Table Cloth" quite attentively, and with much apparent 
gratification. She possesses a rather uncommon degree of obser- 
vation, and is much attracted by such reading as addresses itself to 
this faculty. Emma gave more attention to " The Little Girl's 
Dream." In fact, she developes quite a taste for poetry, although 
she is yet but a mere child. Both were strongly attracted toward 
" The Sunshine of Home ;" and I was gratified to observe that this 
important monthly brings interesting instruction and stories to the 
children, as well as sympathy and aid to the mother. 

May 21st. The children gain daily upon my afi'ection. It is a 
delightful employment to watch the unfolding of their minds. They 
are so different from each other that the study presents much inter- 
esting variety. Both however are eager seekers after the why and 
the wherefore, and the energies of my mind are often tasked in 
vain, to answer their numerous questions. This habit of asking 
questions is one of the small things which needs much wisdom on 
the part of those who are training up children, to treat in the proper 
manner. It is the spontaneous language of nature, and should 
never be abruptly or rudely checked. It has its proper limits, but 
it is sometimes difficult to define them accurately, and still oftener 
difficult to detain within them the impatient child who is ever press- 
ing forward to learn more of the wide unknown. How skillfully 
and successfully was this earnest desire of human nature wrought 
upon by the subtle Tempter, when he induced our common mother 
to disobey the Divine command. 



GENTLE WORDS. 

Use gentle words, for who can tell 

The blessings they impart : 
How oft they fall (as manna fell) 

On some nigh fainting heart? 

In lonely wilds, ])y light-wing'd birds 
Rare seeds have oft been sown, 

And hope has sprung from gentle words, 
Where only griefs had grown. 



DR. GRANT AND THE MOUNTAIN NESTORIANS. 259 



DR. GRANT AND THE MOUNTAIN NESTORIANS. 



While reading the very interesting account of the life and labors 
of this godly man, we wished that all the readers of the Garner 
could peruse it too. We marked several passages to transfer to our 
pages, descriptive of the wild mountain scenery — the sufferings of 
the poor Nestorians, when attacked by their ferocious enemies — and 
the untiring labors of Dr. Grant amid their mountain fastnesses, 
" in journeyings and deaths oft — in perils of waters, in perils by the 
heathen, in perils by robbers, in perils of the city and the wilderness, 
in weariness and watching, in hunger and thirst, in cold and heat," 
that he might not only administer the balm of healing to their 
afflicted bodies, but point them to the great Physician, who can 
cure the malady of sin. The close of his eventful life is peculiarly 
affecting. His grave is at Mosul, on the banks of the Tigris, near 
the ruins of Nineveh. The following summing up of his Christian 
virtues, by one who occupies the post where he died, is a bright 
example for Christians to follow. " Fearless, even to an extreme ; 
full of faith, even to enthusiasm ; shrinking from no hardship ; at 
home in the Kurdish castle, the Nestorian hut, or the palace of the 
Pasha : — every where a Christian and a Christian teacher, — whether 
with the Patriarch or his servant, inculcating the same universally 
adapted truth. A man in advance of the slow pace of the church, 
with a faith to attempt all things ; whose bones will be wept over, 
and his memorial set up, when the great army comes to the spot 
where he fell." 

The following tribute to the memory of Dr. and Mrs. Grant is 
full of touching pathos. " It is an extract from an address by one 
of the pupils of the Female Seminary at Oroomiah, (Persia) at its 
anniversary in 1852. She is the daughter of a mountaineer." — Ed. 

"And now, before we give the right hand of separation for this 
year, it is good that we renew the wings of our loving thoughts, send 



260 DR. GRANT AND THE MOUNTAIN NESTORIANS. 

them to the years that are past, and see where rests the dust of 
some of the dear teachers of this school. Listen ! there comes a 
voice: 'They are not to be found among the living.' Yes, the 
place of one is empty here, and of another there. Then, where are 
they ? Ah ! thou, country, art a witness that they have pressed 
thy soil. Ye blessed winds, I hear you answer, ' They have parted I' 
And ye, green leaves of time, are true witnesses that they are to be 
found among the numbered dead. But where shall we find them ? 
A wide distance is put between them. We must visit one* that 
first put her hand upon the head of some of us to bless us ; and 
though we remember her not, she many times embraced us in the 
arms of love, and carried us before a throne of grace. Yes ; she 
was one of the first that left all her friends behind, and ploughed 
the mighty waves of ocean, that she might come to Oroomiah's dark 
border. Though the fierce tempests and heavy waves raised them- 
selves above the ship, her prayers, mingled with love for the Nesto- 
rians, ascended higher still, and overcame all. At the foot of 
Mount Ararat she doubtless renembered the bow of promise : and 
the consolations of her heart were renewed, when she thought of it 
as a prophecy, that a company of the fallen daughters of Chaldea 
should rise up and become heirs of glory. She so labored that the 
Lord is rewarding her, even to the third and fourth generation. 

" But though, with such holy zeal she engaged in her work, her 
journey was short. Some of us had not seen our eighth summer 
when those lips, on which was written wisdom, were still, and that 
tongue, on which dwelt the law of kindness, was silent in deatii. 
Now she rests in this church-yard. She sleeps with our dead, and 
her dust is mingled with the dust of our fathers, till that day when 
she shall rise to glory, and a company of ransomed Nestorians with her. 

" But where is that other dear friend of our school,t who was 
the beautiful staff of her support ? Yes, he encouraged her to labor 
for us, while many of us were as yet unborn. His heart was large 
enough to love every son and daughter of our people. He sowed 
with many tears, and gave himself for the Nestorians. Shall Ave 
not believe that the fruits of his labors have sprung up among 
us ? Then let us search, — where is he ? Let us go silently, silently, 
and stand above that ancient city, Nineveh, and ask it. Where is 

* Mrs. Grant. f Dr. Grant. 



MATERNAL RESPONSIBILITY. 261 



he? It will direct us; 'Lo, he rests on the banks of the noble Tigris.' 
Would that our whisper might reach the ear of the wild Arab and 
cruel Turk, that they walk gently by that stranger grave, and tread 
not on its dust ! Then shall we think no more of it ? No, with a 
firm hope, we expect that those mountains on which his beautiful 
feet rested shall answer his name, in echoes, one to the other ; and 
the persons who saw his faithful example there shall mingle in the 
flock of his Saviour. 

"No, ye are not lost, ye spirits made holy ; but, as it was neces- 
sary that some should come here to labor from a distant land, so 
ye were necessary in heaven, to do a greater work. We believe 
that ye are doing more than ye could have done here. Yes, that 
ye are a part of that great company of witnesses that encompass 
us to-day. Then, loved one, we w^ould not call you thence ; — cling 
closely, and more closely, to the bosom of your Saviour, till we too, 
through free grace, shall share in your glory !" 



MATERNAL RESPONSIBILITY. 

All will acknowledge that our responsibility as mothers is very 
great. It is nevertheless true that we do not always feel it as we 
should. There are times and circumstances calculated to draw out 
the tenderness and depth of our affections for our little ones, and 
with it a realizing sense of our responsibility. What event so likely 
to produce this effect, as the sudden and protracted illness of one of 
these dear ones. Go with us to the sick room and watch that 
mother's anxious face, as she gazes upon the form of a well beloved 
child prostrated by disease, fearing that it will fix its arrows in her 
heart and rankle there until she will become weary in trying to 
resist its influence upon her sensitive frame, and yield to its insi- 
dious attacks upon the very citadel of life. 

She feels the event is with a just God, yet sadness sits upon her 
brow, and the unbidden tears dim her eyes, as every omission of 
duty, and every unjustifiable act on her part is vividly, pictured in 



262 MATERNAL RESPONSIBILITY. 

memory. The agonizing thought that she may be even now called 
upon to restore her treasure to Him "who doeth all things well," 
leads her to look about her and inquire whether " she had done what 
she could" towards polishing and preparing that gem of immortal 
birth to shine for ever and ever in the light of a glorious Eternity. 
See those penitential tears, listen to that confession of unfaithfulness 
in duty, and pleadings for Divine forgiveness. Hear her earnest 
prayers that her child may be restored to health. "Holy Father" 
(says she) I know that ' Thy ways are not as my ways, neither Thy 
thoughts as my thoughts,' and I do desire to bow in humble submis- 
sion to Thy holy will, but is it not in accordance with that will, to 
rebuke disease in that frail flower, restore the bloom of health to 
those wan cheeks, wonted purity to her fair brow, the lustre to 
her laughing eyes, and the sweet smile to her fevered lips ? ! I 
pray Thee to forgive we, in that I have not done my whole duty^ to 
this dear one Thou hast committed to my care. Fill my heart with 
Thy love, teach me to know myself, that I may put my dependance 
in Thee, and thus be better fitted to train her up for Thee. Spare 
her yet a little while, and help me to 'redeem the time;' grant me 
the influence of thy Holy Spirit to direct and assist me in cultivating 
this immortal bud in such a manner as Thou wilt approve, that it 
may be transplanted by Thee in Paradise, there to bloom in perfec- 
tion of beauty, forever." 

That prayer is heard in heaven, 

Those vows recorded there ; 
Health to her child is given 

In answer to her prayer. 

Well for her if she remember those reflections by the bedside of 
her sick child, and strive to fulfill those good resolutions she then 
formed, and well for us to consider that we have the charge of im- 
mortal spirits, and cannot if we would rid ourselves of responsibility. 

C 



" There is an hour of hallowed peace, 
For those with care oppressed ; 

When sighs and sorrowing tears shall cease 
And all be hushed to rest." 



PLEASANT CHILDREN. 



263 







PLEASANT CHILDREN. 

Evert where — every where — 

Like the butterfly's silver wings, 
That are seen by all in the summer air, — 

We meet with those beautiful things ! 
And the low sweet lisp of the baby child 

By a thousand hills is heard, 
And the voice of young heart's laughter wild, 

As the voice of the singing bird ! 



The cradle rocks in the peasant's cot 
As it rocks in the noble's hall, 



264 THE PIONEER MOTHER. 

And the brighest gift in the loftiest lot, 
Is a gift that is given to all ; 

For the sunny light of childhood's eyes 
Is a boon like the common air, 

And like the sunshine of the skies, 
It falleth everywhere ! 

Edmondstone. 



THE PIONEER MOTHER. 

Persons who move in the poHshed circles of large cities, or even 
in the farming districts of the old states, know little of the hard- 
ships, privations, and self-denial of frontier life. Nor do thej 
entertain just notions of the character, feelings, and moral senti- 
ments of those living in the backwoods. A very common but mis- 
taken notion is, that our sparse frontier settlers, who live by hunting 
and farming in quite a primitive style, are stolid, ignorant, and 
verging towards a state of barbarism. The pioneers of the western 
valley were not a rough, uncouth, semi-barbarous, fighting, gouging, 
whiskey-drinking, indolent race, as some have imagined. Individuals 
were vicious, and some had fled from the restraints of law and good 
order, but every where there have been the germinating principles 
of truth and righteousness, and constant progress has been the 
result. 

We have lived and labored for many a long year, amidst the real 
backwoodsmen ; have partaken of their homely fare, slept in their 
log cabins, and shared in their rustic, but hearty hospitality. We 
have been associated with not a few persons, fathers and mothers, 
who could not read black marks in books, and who yet were not 
destitute of education and kind feelings. If education consists in 
the development and invigoration of the native powers of the mind; 
if it includes the knowledge of men and things, — of nature as well 
as of books, then were the class of men and women who were pioneers 
in the valley of the Mississippi an educated people. Nor are kind- 
ness, gentleness, and strong maternal feelings confined to those 
females (we purposely omit the modern term ladies) who thumb the 
piano, go out shopping in fair weather, suffer with distressing ennui 
in a rainy season, or send visiting cards to their friends. 



THE PIONEER MOTHER. 265 

In all the older states, modern improvements have banished the 
spinning wheel and loom from the farmer's house, and only a class 
of old folks remember the age of homespun garments, apple cuttings, 
and the art of making pies and puddings for thanksgiving and 
Christmas. These antiquated notions and primitive habits still linger 
through that portion of the United States once denominated the 
" Great West," — or more properly now, with our changing geogra- 
phy, called the "Valley of the Mississippi." 

But our story goeth farther back than the age of homespun and 
yarn stockings, knit by the buxom daughters, matronly wives, and 
sedate grandmothers of the past generation in this region of modern 
habits. We shall write of those who removed from the frontiers 
of Virginia to the country of Illinois, when buffalo and bear skins 
formed the bedding, and deer skins, dressed by the hunters, the 
garments worn by both sexes. In 1785, Captain Joseph Ogle, one 
of the stalwart defenders of Fort Henry on the present site of 
Wheeling, from a ferocious Indian assault, with his family and 
several neighbors, migrated by water craft to the far distant country 
of Illinois. Knowledge of that country was brought to the settle- 
ments along the waters of the upper Ohio, by the volunteers who 
enlisted under the chivalrous and heroic Col. Clark, the conqueror 
of the French villages on the Mississippi and Wabash. Their glow- 
ing descriptions of the vast, undulating meadows of the richest soil, 
stretching far as the eye could reach, with groves of timber along 
the streams, and furnishing a luxuriant "range" for raising cattle, 
horses, and swine ; — the droves of buffalo, elk, deer, and other 
game ; — the simple and unique manners of the French inhabitants, 
clustering in little villages, inspired the frontier people with the 
passion for emigrating to this El dorado of the "Far West." 

Captain Ogle had married his second wife, and had a large family 
of children. One of his daughters, by the name of Catharine, had 
previously married James Lemen, and circumstances made it inex- 
pedient for them to accompany her father. But we regard her, in 
a peculiar sense, the Pioneer Mother. There is a pleasant family 
tradition that this couple, soon as they set eyes on each other, were 
both impressed with the conviction that they were destined for each 
other's happiness. It is a certain fact that for forty-three years 
passed in the connubial relationship, not an unkind word was ever 
spoken between them, nor a single unkind feeling manifested between 



266 THE PIONEER MOTHER. 

them. Yet no childish fondness, no mawkish sensibility was ever 
seen by their most intimate acquaintances. Their daily companion- 
ship was rational, truthful, and affectionate. 

James Lemen had lost his father in Virginia at a tender age, and 
was trained by a Presbyterian step-father in stern and rigid habits 
of piety and morality, which gave the distinctive elements of his 
character during life. The young couple manifested none of the 
refined sentimentalities that abound in a class of novels. They 
were sensible people, trained up to the realities of life. They 
married as all backwoods youngsters do, without any of the modern 
comforts of life and the conveniences of housekeeping. Their accom- 
modations consisted of two or three utensils of iron, a few wooden 
trenchers, or at best pewter plates, a couple of noggins, a bucket, 
some stools, which every backwoodsman makes as a substitute for 
chairs, and a coarse bed with a scanty supply of covering, to be 
replenished and made more comfortable by the frugal and industrious 
housewife, when she could gather worn-out, cast-off garments of 
cotton to construct a homely coverlid. The house was universally 
a log cabin, in a rough state, without a nail or a pane of glass, with 
a huge, open chimney of sticks and clay, and a single room, until 
the occupants could find time from more pressing avocations, to put 
up another room. The table was made of clap-boards, hewn smooth 
and fastened to strips of wood by pins, and supported by four round 
legs. The bedstead was usually made in the corner of the room by 
two small poles being stuck into the logs, and sustained at the outer 
corner by a post or fork inserted in the floor. On these poles clap- 
boards were laid, which supported the bedding. What would the 
young wife now do in such a " fix" for housekeeping? And yet we 
have given the indispensable items of furniture for a log cabin of 
the once "Far West." For many a night, after a weary day's ride, 
we have enjoyed the hospitality of the cheerful and contented occu- 
pants of such cabins, and under such circumstances. And we have 
visited the same families on the same spot after a lapse of years, 
finding them in a brick or framed tenement, surrounded with all the 
comforts and many of the luxuries of life. The unerring rifle and 
hunting knife are inseparable companions of every man who lives on 
the "range." 

But to return to the Pioneer Mother, and her resolute, undaunted, 
and adventurous husband. 



THE PIONEER MOTHER. 267 

It was in 1786 they came from the vicinity of Wheeling to the 
wilds of Illinois. Their eldest child, now a venerable man of three 
score and ten, was in his fourth year, and their second child, now 
living, and who has been a preacher of the gospel forty-five years, 
was some fifteen months old, when this couple entered a flat boat to 
make the long and tedious journey down the Ohio river. Their 
boat floated with the current in the day, and was fastened to the 
shore during the night. This was to be their home for many weeks. 
On the second night the river fell, and left their boat stranded on a 
stump, where it careened and filled with water, and their eldest 
child, with the bed on which he lay, fioated ofi" on the strong current. 
The father's quick eye saw the danger of his first-born, and by an 
instantaneous manoeuvre he saved his life. But their bedding, scanty 
articles of furniture and provisions, were in the river and irretriev- 
ably lost. 

Frontier people have energy, and with them often " necessity is 
the mother of invention." They contrived to obtain a passage on a 
keel boat, and after a voyage of three months or more, reached the 
ancient town of Kaskaskia ; and from thence to the settlement of 
Captain Ogle, on the American bottom, in the present county of 
Monroe. There was a scattering settlement of American families, 
without schools, without preachers of the gospel, and at that period 
subject to the hostile depredations of the Kickapoos and Shawanoes. 
Indians by nature delight in war and plunder, and these in their 
marauding excursions from their villages a hundred miles distant, 
committed barbarous depredations on the frontier people. On the 
first visit of Europeans to the continent of North America, the 
Indian tribes were engaged in murderous assaults on each other. 
The native innocence and moral goodness of savages, over which 
philanthropists at a distance have speculated and formed beautiful 
theories, is all poetry. The blessings of the gospel and of civiliza- 
tion should be carried to the Indians, not because they are an honest 
inofi'ensive people, who are guiied in the pathway of righteousness 
by a light within them, but because they are ferociously wicked, 
delight in war, and will commit depredations on others from their 
love of fighting, and insatiate desire for plunder. The Shawanoes 
and Kickapoos who made war for ten years on the Americans in 
Illinois, did not own an acre of land in that country, even in the 
-iidian sense. They were supplied with arms, ammunition, and 



268 THE PIONEER MOTHER. 

blankets, by the British, who held possession of the military posts 
along the northern lakes, in violation of the treaty of 1783. 

The American immigrants in the country of Illinois, were then 
confined chiefly to the present county of Monroe, and were com- 
pelled to erect " Stations " for their defense. These stations were 
a species of rude forts, containing a large, square enclosure, sur- 
rounded with the log cabins of the families, and palisades planted in 
the ground, with a huge gate of timber at the entrance. To this 
shelter they retreated, lived in a kind of community, and cultivated 
a field in common, adjacent to the station. There was no certainty 
when Indians were near. In some seasons, for many months, none 
of their enemies showed themselves, and the people would retire to 
their farms, and when all were lulled into security, the shrill war- 
whoop, uplifted tomahawk, and gleaming scalping-knife, were the 
first signs of danger. Many a lovely family was massacred, and 
many a traveler was way-laid, shot and scalped. At the same time, 
there was in reality no organized government- in the country. Vir- 
ginia transferred all her claim to the Continental Congress in 1784, 
and this portion of the North-western Territory was not provided 
with magistrates until 1790. 

The only person who had been a communicant in a Christian 
church in the States, was an obscure female. In the French villages, 
after morning mass was said by the visiting priest, the Sabbath was 
a day of hilarity and amusement. A part of the American families 
delighted in this state of unrestrained indulgence. Hunting, danc- 
ing, wrestling, drinking, and running horses, were favorite amuse- 
ments on the Sabbath, and. a "row" and a fight the natural results. 
Another class of families, among whom was Captain Ogle and his 
son-in-law, regarded the Sabbath as time God had consecrated for 
his worship. The thought of raising their families with such unholy 
and corrupting influences around them was painful, and though no 
one had made a formal profession of faith in Christ, and none 
attempted to ofl'er a prayer in public, they met in an orderly manner, 
on that day in some one's log cabin, or under the shady grov^ 
mid-summer, sang hymns, and one of the number read select poi 
of Scripture, or a sermon from some book. An old book, entitlcu 
^' RusselV s Seven Sermons,'' brought to the country by one of the 
families, furnished spiritual food on many a Sabbath. 

In 1787, Rev. James Smith, a Baptist preacher from Kentucky, 



THE PIONEER MOTHER. 269 

visited Illinois, and preached the gospel with much effect. He was 
the first minister of Christ who visited those remote settlements, and 
most of the heads of families who held meetings in the imperfect 
manner described, were converted. From this period there were 
persons to praj in meetings, which, except in case of Indian alarms, 
were kept up regularly. Soon after, Mr. Lemen removed to the 
upland country, to the spot afterwards called New Design, where 
he and his wife were baptised, with two other persons, in February, 
1794. This was the first baptism ever performed in the Illinois 
country. The first church was formed in 1796. 

During the period of Indian hostilities, and subsequently, Mrs. 
Lemen gave habitual instruction to her young children, and, in the 
absence of her husband, always prayed with them. No visitors 
would deter her from this duty. Many a day while there was dan- 
ger from Indian alarms, she would barricade the door of the cabin, 
and gather her children around the ample fire-place, and by the 
light reflected through the aperture of the chimney, teach them to 
read, and implant in their young minds the principles of the gospel. 
At that time, and in that country, no modern facilities existed to 
aid this good mother in her pious labors. The only books to be had 
were the Bible, and Watts' Psalms and Hymns. She became the 
mother of ten children, two of whom died in early childhood ; and 
eight lived to become the heads of large families. Of this number, 
six were sons and two daughters. They were all trained up in the 
way they should go, all made a profession of religion in early life, 
and four sons, now venerable men, bowed by the weight of years, are 
ministers of the gospel, and have been among the most faithful, self- 
denying and successful men on the western frontiers. We have 
rarely known a mother, even under far more favorable circumstances, 
exert a better and wider influence on her descendants than Mother 
Lemen. The character of the wife and mother, drawn by King 
Lemuel, in the last chapter of the book of Proverbs, found its par- 
allel in this humble, and comparatively unknown pioneer. Through- 
out a long life she was a pattern of maternal industry and piety. 
Her husband well might have praised her, and her children and 
grand-children called her blessed. In the early part of this century 
her husband commenced the labors of the gospel ministry, and until 
his death, devoted his talents, and all the time he could command, 
gratuitously to the gospel field. And no minister's wife ever sub- 



270 COULDN T ! COS HE SUNG SO ! 

mitted with more cheerfulness to the absence of her companion, in 
his visits to distant settlements. The business of the farm, the 
duties of the household, and the service of God in the family, were 
faithfully performed. And when called to part with her beloved 
companion, as he entered the valley of the shadow of death in 
1823, her faith in the promises of Christ, and her hope of a joy- 
ful meeting beyond the waters of Jordan, bore her above the pangs 
of connubial affection so rudely severed. 

In 1840, this excellent widow passed the age of three score, slept 
in Jesus, and was buried by the side of her husband, on the farm 
where they had so long resided. She left a long line of descendants ; 
children, grand-children, and great-grand-children ; and nearly all 
who had come to years of understanding, were members of churches 
in that and in adjacent counties. 

The writer of this sketch was called on by the relatives to preach 
a funeral discourse, a few weeks after the burial, at the church of 
which two of the sons were pastors, and where nearly every descen- 
dant of this Pioneer Mother was present. J. M. P. 



COULDN'T! COS HE SUNG SO! 

Leaning idly over a fence, a few days since, we noticed a little 
four-year-old " lord of the creation" amusing himself in the grass by 
watching the frolicsome flight of birds which were playing around 
him. At length a beautiful bobolink perched himself upon a droop- 
ing bough of an apple tree which extended to within a few yards 
of the place where the urchin sat, and maintained his position, appa- 
rently unconscious of the close proximity to one whom birds usually 
consider a dangerous neighbor. 

The boy seemed astonished at his impudence, and after regarding 
him steadily for a minute or two, obeying the instinct of his baser 
part, he picked up a stone lying at his feet, and was preparing to 
throw it, steadying himself carefully for a good aim. The little 
arm was reached backward without alarming the bird, and Bob was 
within an ace of damage, when lo ! his throat swelled, and forth 
came Nature's plea; "a link — a link — a 1-i-n-k, bob-o-link, bob-o- 



LITTLE THINGS." 271 



link, a-no-weet, a-no-weet ! I know it — I know it ! a-link — a-link ! 
don't throw it — throw it ! — throw it !" &c., &c.; and he didn't. Slowlj 
the little arm subsided to its natural position, and the despised stone 
dropped. The minstrel charmed the murderer ! We heard the 
songster through, and watched his unharmed flight, as did the boy, 
with a sorrowful countenance. Anxious to hear an expression of 
the little fellow's feelings, we approached him, and inquired : 

'' Why didn't you stone him, my boy ? you might have killed him 
and carried him home." 

The poor little fellow looked up doubtingly, as though he sus- 
pected our meaning, and with an expression of half shame and half 
sorrow, replied : 

" Couldn't ! cos he sung so .'" 

Who, then, will say that music hath no charms to soothe the savage 
breast ? Melody awakened humanity, and humanity mercy ! The 
angels who sang at the creation whispered to the child's heart. The 
bird t\'as saved, and God was glorified by the deed. Dear little 
boys ! don't stone the birds. — Clinton Courant, 



LITTLE THINGS. 



Many of the readers of the Home Garner, are doubtless 
acquainted with the excellent little book bearing the above title. 
None can rise from its perusal without a deeper sense of the impor- 
tance of the "little things" of which it treats, and a more heartfelt 
conviction " that all things are not trifles which are called so." 

Due consideration and strict watchfulness in little things, are of 
importance to the happiness and welfare of all, — but how especially 
do little things commend themselves to the attention of a mother. 
In the sphere of her duties can anything be estemed little or trifling ? 
We think not. She has to deal with little folks. To the mother is 
intrusted the directing and the moulding of little intellects just be- 
ginning to bud and to expand. Can anything be deemed trifling 
that influences, whether for good or evil, these young but immor- 
tal minds ? Oh, let a mother weigh well her words, before she allows 
herself to say of anything pertaining to the little ones around her, 
" It is but a trifle." 



272 " LITTLE THINGS.' 



Your little boy utters an untruth. Do not say, " It was about a 
mere trifle, and besides it did not deceive me for a moment. It is 
not worth while to make a fuss about it !" A trifle! Is it a trifle 
in the estimation of that little fellow ? It did not deceive you I 
Did he not mean to deceive ? Oh, as you value his future happiness 
and your own peace of mind in after years, beware how you pass 
lightly over the least departure from truth. Gloss it over with no 
softening terms. Let the little one of two years old know that a 
lie is displeasing in the sight of the great God. Let him see and 
feel that nothing can grieve or displease his mother more than to 
hear her darling "tell a lie." Speak of it ever with contempt and 
disgust, and let him see in every word and action the high value you 

set upon TRUTH. 

On entering the breakfast room you perceive a little hand hastily 
withdrawn from the sugar bowl, or from the plate of biscuit. Do 
you say, "Well, I'm sure a lump of sugar, or a biscuit is a mere 
trifle. And the child is heartily welcome to it. I hope you 'would 
not pretend to call that stealing." What does the child herself con- 
sider it to be ? Why was the little hand so hastily withdrawn ? 
Why are her cheeks like crimson, and why is her manner so confused ? 
Does she not know that she has taken what was not her own ? Is 
there not a monitor within which tells her she has done wrong ? If 
you pass by the act as too trifling for your notice, it will be repeated 
again and again. She also will consider it as a trifle, and the habit, 
the fearful habit of pilfering will grow upon her. Little by little 
— little by little ; till at last whatever she wishes for, she will take, 
provided only she thinks herself secure against detection. And 
what misery will be yours if one day you awaken to the conscious- 
ness that your cherished daughter hides, beneath a lovely exterior, 
the hideous sin of theft, and its twin brother, lying ! You start 
with horror from the very thought. Beware how you pass over the 
slightest act of pilfering, lest you one day find it to be a dreadful 
reality. 

To turn to less serious matters. You look with pleasure on a well 
bred child. You say perhaps " I wish my children would keep their 
clothes neat, and try to give civil answers when a stranger speaks to 
them." Have you watched them in these respects ? Or have you 
allowed many a little instance of rudeness to pass unreproved ? and 
considered it too troublesome and fussy to teach them habits of 



"little things." 27B 



cleanliness? Is " Give me some bread ;" " I want some pie ;" " Get 
me my hat," the usual way in which your children make known their 
wants ? and do you let them have the things they ask for thus, 
because you "don't like to make a fuss about such trifles ?" No 
wonder then that they grow up rude and uncouth in speech. It is 
as easy and pleasant for a child to say, " Please," and " Thank you," 
if he is taught from the first to do so, as it is for him to say, " Give 
me this," "I want that." It will require, it is true, constant atten- 
tion to this little matter till the habit is formed. But is it not worth 
the trouble ? Rudeness of manner may seem a trifle at two years 
old. Is it a trifle by the time the boy reaches twelve or fourteen 
years of age ? 

We might go on multiplying examples, but the few hints we have 
already given will suffice. And we wish to add a word or two upon the 
importance, on the other hand, of noticing and encouraging every 
little effort to do right. 

A mother should endeavor, as far as possible, to enter into her 
child's thoughts and feelings, and to view things as he views 
them. Then she will be able in some degree to estimate the 
greatness oj the struggle in the little bosom, as the child stands 
making up his mind to lend a favorite plaything to his little sister ; 
and the pleasant, " Here, Fanny, you may play with my cart till 
you are tired of it," will not be passed unnoticed, but receive the 
wished-for kiss of approbation. 

The love of praise is stronger in children than at any other period 
of life. Children may certainly be overpraised, and flattery has 
sown the germ of much evil in the youthful hea^t ; but we do think 
that very many err on the opposite extreme. They are busy and do 
not notice the child's little effort to win an approving smile ; or 
something has put them out of humor, and they do not feel in a 
mood to praise. 

The blocks have all been arranged in their box, and the playthings 
put neatly away, and the little boy runs to his mother to tell her of 
his industry. If she merely says, hurriedly, " Very well, very well, 
now you can go up to bed," what a disappointment she will cause to 
the little heart that expected a pleasant smile and an approving, 
" There's a good boy." 

Such encouragement consumes very little time; it need encroach 
an none of your duties. But it does make one important demand 



18 



274 A STORY FOR LITTLE GIRLS. 

on you, which is, that your attention be continually alive to every 
thing which may promote the progress and improvement of your 
child ; and that your hearty sympathy be at once aroused by every 
little effort which he makes towards well doing. 

And is this too much to ask of a mother ? Is it not your highest 
duty, your sweetest privilege, to direct, to support and encourage 
those trembling little steps which without your watchful guidance 
will surely stray in paths of error and of sin ? The steps are feeble 
and faltering now, the progress is slow ; but Christian mother, let 
yours be the blessed task of placing those little feet in the right way, 
and aiding them in their gradual progress, and then yours will be 
the bright reward of beholding them in later years running with 
patience the race set before them, " pressing on towards the mark 
for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.' 

Doubt it not, for the word of the Lord has spoken it. 

M. F. A 



A STORY POR LITTLE GIRLS. 

Not far from a beautiful town in New England, lived two little 
girls, who were cousins. Their names were Clara and Lucy. 
Clara was the eldest, and with her parents resided a little way from 
Lucy, who was an orphan, and lived with her aunt, Mrs. Dunning. 

One day these little girls had permission to visit the town, where 
they had seldom been in all their lives. The road was very pleasant 
and they were as happy as two children could be. 

"When they arrived at the town they were filled with wonder and 
delight at the sight of so many beautiful things. They walked 
about the streets, looking at the large houses and the tall steeples, 
and the shop windows filled with all sorts of curiosities, until they 
were so tired that they were glad to start for the quiet country. 
They had nearly reached their homes, when Lucy, in taking her 
pocket handkerchief from her bag, found in it a tiny book. Both 
girls were astonished; they very well knew that neither of them 
had bought it, but remembered they had seen a great many like it, 
at a toy shop where they rested awhile. 



A STORY FOR LITTLE GIRLS. 275 

Poor Lucy felt very badly, and cast an anxious look behind her, 
to see if any one was after her. She had never stolen a thing in 
her life, and the fear that the shopkeeper might miss the book, and 
send an officer after her, was little worse than the thought that she 
would be regarded a thief. 

Her first resolution was to turn around, and carry the book back 
immediately, notwithstanding it was more than a mile, and she so 
very tired ; but Clara told her not to do that. She said the lady 
would never miss it, it was but one penny, and it would be very 
foolish to take so much trouble about such a little thing. " If you 
carry it home," said she, '' your aunt will think you meant to steal 
it, and will make you take it back, and punish you beside. Now if 
I were you, I would throw it away, and say nothing about it." 

After some deliberation, Lucy decided to follow her cousin's 
advice, and the little book was hastily concealed in the wall by the 
road-side. Foolish girl, thus to hearken to the words of Clara ! 

It was near night when they reached Mrs. Dunning's, who had 
prepared a nice supper for them. After they had eaten, Clara left 
for home, and very soon Lucy went to bed, but not to sleep. Her 
head ached, and thoughts of the book, and the fear of detection, 
made her very unhappy. After a while, overcome with fatigue, she 
fell asleep. The first thing she heard in the morning was the voice 
of her aunt, calling her to get up, and go and find that book which 
she had stolen and hid in the wall ! 

What could it mean ? No one knew it but Clara, and surely she 
would not expose her, after advising her to do just as she did, and 
promising to keep it a secret. With a heavy heart she rose and 
began to prepare herself to go down to her aunt. Mortification and 
grief caused her to weep more bitter tears than she had shed for 
many a day. 

" Oh," said she to herself, " how much better it would have been 
if I had done right, and not listened to Clara. I knew the book 
was not mine, either to keep or destroy. If I had carried it back 
to the owner, I should have been a happy girl this morning ; now I 
am covered with shame and disgrace : or if I had brought it home, 
and told the truth, I dare say my aunt would have believed me, 
and given me much better advice than a little girl like Clara. Oh ! 
how sorry I am I did not do what I knew was right." 

My little readers are wondering, I dare say, with Lucy, how the 



276 A STORY FOR LITTLE GIRLS. 

sad tale got to the ears of Mrs. Dunning, and I will hasten to tell 
them. 

As soon as Clara got home, she sat down to tell what she had 
seen and heard. Among other things she said Lucy had stolen a 
book in the city and torn it to pieces, and put it in the wall on her 
way home. Oh, Clara, did not you have something to do with that 
affair ? Are you not more to blame than Lucy, and are you not 
breaking your promise ? Is that doing as you would be done by ? 

As soon as Lucy was dressed, she went to her aunt and told her all 
about it, begging her to forgive her, and promising never to listen to 
what she knew to be wrong again. As Mrs. Dunning had never de- 
tected her in a falsehood, or known her to take without permission 
what was not her own, she very readily believed her; "but," said she, 
" though the lady may never miss such a trifle, and perhaps never 
know it, yet the great God knows it. He sees all we do, hears all 
we say, and knows all we think. And besides, if you are dishonest 
in little things, you will soon become so in great things." She 
then bade her put on her hat immediately after she had eaten her 
breakfast, and go to the town ; if she could find the book take it 
with her, if not, tell the lady all about it, and pay her for it. 

Lucy was soon on her way, and as she drew near the spot where 
she had concealed the book, she began to look around, fearing that 
some one would see her, and feeling that every body would think 
she looked guilty. She found the book just where she left it, per- 
fectly safe. With joyful haste she took it to the owner, who received 
her very kindly, and after commending her for her honesty, gave 
her the little book, and likewise treated her to some nice fruit and 
candy, bidding her eat and refresh herself after her long walk. 

Now, there are two points in the conduct of these girls to which 1 
wish to direct the attention of my little readers. One is the folly 
of Lucy in hearing the words of Clara, instead of taking the book 
to her good aunt and asking her advice. If children could only 
realize how much better it would be for them to consult their parents 
or guardians on all questions concerning which they are not per- 
fectly sure what is right, they would escape a great deal of trouble 
themselves, and save their friends from much anxiety on their 
account. Go to your mother, my little friends ; whisper in her ear 
all your troubles and perplexities. She is your best friend. Youi 
happiness is her chief desire, — she is capable of directing you on 



SPINNING WHEELS AND LOOMS. 277 

every subject. But, do I hear some darling child say, "my mother 
sleeps in the cold, dark grave." So did Lucy's. But God had given 
her another friend to supply in a great measure the place of her 
sainted mother : and so it is with you. He who takes care of the 
young ravens has raised up some one to take care of you and advise 
you. 

The other point to which I refer is the treachery of Clara. By 
this I mean her dishonesty and unkindness in disclosing that secret 
which she had promised always to keep. And besides, she told 
what she knew was not true. Honesty, in all your intercourse with 
each other my dear children, is very important. Never do or say 
any thing to bring your companions into trouble. I have always 
thought that Clara did not fully understand what a treacherous part 
she was acting, but like many little girls, had such a strong desire to 
tell the secret, that she could not overcome it, and in order to do 
that in such a way that no blame would rest upon herself, she was 
forced to tell a falsehood. 

A. L. 



Spinning Wheels and Looms. — These wheels are now so out of 
fashion and use, as hardly to be known by their names among the 
modern city belles, as former articles of household thrift. They 
must, therefore, be told that the first is the name of an old-fashioned 
piano, with one string and one melody — the other was a big house 
organ with but few stops. They sometimes joined their melodies, 
and sung most cheerily airs of olden time, like these, " The diligent 
hand maketh rich," " She seeketh both wool and flax," " She stayeth 
at home, &c." — Watson's Annals, 



Let my children be husbandmen and housewives. This leads to 
consider the works of God and of nature, and divests the mind from 
being taken up with the vain arts and inventions of a luxurious 
world. Of cities and towns, and of concourse heware. The world 
is apt to stick closp to those who have lived and got their wealth 
there. A country life and estate I like best for my children, — 
William Fenn, 



278 



THE RAINBOW. 




THE RAINBOW. Gen. ix. 13. 

■ Oft as the Rainbow's glittering span, 
Shall sparkle on the stormy sky ; 

My gracious covenant made with man, 
I do confirm — he shall not die !" 

Thy word of promise, Lord, we hear. 
When o'er our head the tempest breaks, 

It falls like music on the ear, — 
But oh, a nobler hope it wakes ! 

For thou unto thy Church hast given, 
Promise of mercies dearer still ; 

And wilt thou set thy bow in heaven, 
Yet fail those mercies to fulfil? 



No ! Thou wilt make each promise good, 
To us and to our infant race : 

And never shall temptation's flood 

O'erwhelm the soul that seeks thy face. 



J. N. B. 



ON RELIGIOUS CONVERSATION WITH CHILDREN. 279 



ON RELIGIOUS CONVERSATION WITH CHILDREN. 

On this important subject, in which every Christian mother feels 
deeply interested, it is desirable to obtain every aid in our power. 
If the following ideas, thrown hastily together, will afford any young 
mother assistance in this duty, my desire will be fulfilled. 

In Deut., vi. 7, we read, " Thou shalt teach them to thy children, 
thou shalt talk of them when thou walkest by the way : when thou 
liest down, when thou risest up ; and when thou sittest in thy 
house ;" and again, " Line upon line, precept upon precept, here a 
little and there a little." 

From this we may learn that there is no danger of making the 
subject too familiar by frequent repetition. To make an impression 
on the mind of a child, it is necessary often to repeat the same 
idea ; yet if that idea is enlarged upon at one time it may produce 
uneasiness. A protracted conversation on one subject will destroy 
its effect, as the minds of children cannot receive or enjoy a didactic 
method of discourse. 

With children as with others, the apostles' suggestion should be 
borne in mind ; " Let your conversation be with grace, seasoned as 
with salt," that is, let religion be the all-pervading influence at all 
times, rather than a separate subject. When walking by the way 
let the falling leaf teach the certainty of death ; the springing grass 
the hope of a resurrection ; the expanse of water the infinity of 
God in power, love, mercy ; the rainbow the faithfulness of God to 
his promises ; the sun, Christ as the light of the soul. When sitting 
in the house let every little incident teach some truth, or enforce 
some divine precept ; and when the attention is aroused, and inter- 
est excited, encourage inquisitiveness, and rather answer than ask 
questions. I have never known children weary of listening to 
answers to their own questions. 

The time when children are usually more inclined to listen to reli- 
gious subjects, is evening ; and I have often noted that remarks, narra- 
tives, or illustrations conveyed at bed-time, made a more sure and 
lasting impression than at any other time, and the deeply interest- 



280 THE WORLD FOR SALE. 



ing questions which are proposed the following day, prove the fact. 
The Sabbath furnishes another peculiarly suitable time, as the usual 
occupations are laid aside, and the minds are comparatively uhuC- 
cupied; then a scripture history will afford amusement and instruction, 
and elicit remarks and questions which will make a lasting impression. 

In such conversation we should avoid wearying the child, by 
stopping when the attention flags, and a cheerful sympathetic manner 
must be manifested. If we take no lively interest ourselves in such 
discourse, we shall produce none on our children. 

Never make such conversations a part of punishment. Nothing 
will excite a distaste for it more than a long lecture on the evil 
which has been manifested at any particular time. Let such a 
reproof be short and pointed. 

These thoughts are some of the results of many years' experience 
in the education of children, and to which I feel the need of con- 
stantly recurring as a grandmamma. 

E. S. 



THE WORLD FOR SALK 

Here is something written on the top of the Uenth wave' of a 
whole tide of thought and mournful experience, excellent to our 
finding. So said the New York Mirror, some ten or twelve years 
ago, when we clipped from its columns the following, and transferred 
it to our scrap book as a gem not to be lost. We now bring it 
from that treasury as too good to be hidden, just as brilliant with 
vivid thoughts as when placed there. It no doubt will find responses 
in many a disappointed heart. Would that all in letting go the 
shadow, might as firmly grasp the substance of things to come — the 
"ruition of heaven. M G. C. 

The world for sale ! Hang out the sign 

Call every traveller here to me ; 
Who'll buy this brave estate of mine, 

And set ray weary spirit free ? 
'Tis going ! — yes I mean to fling 

The bauble from my soul away ; 
I'll sell it, whatsoe'er it bring, — 

The world at auction here, to-day I 



THE WORLD FOR SALE. 281 



It is a glorious thing to see, — 

Ah, it has cheated me so sore, 
It is not what it seems to be ! — 

For sale ! It shall be mine no more. 
Come, turn it o'er and view it well — 

I would not have you purchase dear ; 
'Tis going — going — I must sell ! 

Who bids ? Who'll buy the splendid tear ? 

Here^s wealth in glittering heaps of gold — 

Who bids ? — but let me tell you fair, 
A baser lot was never sold, 

Who'll buy the heavy heaps of care ? 
And here spread out in broad domain, 

A goodly landscape all may trace, 
Hall, cottage, tree, field, hill, and plain ; — 

Who'll buy himself a burial place ? 

Here's Love — the dreamy potent spell 

That beauty flings around the heart — 
I know its power, alas ! too well ; 

It's going ! — Love and I must part ! 
Must part ! — what can I more with love ? 

All over the enchanter's reign ; 
Who'll buy the plumeless, dying dove, — 

A breath of bliss, a storm of pain ? 

And Friendship — rarest gem of earth, — 

Whoe'er hath found the jewel his? 
Frail, fickle, false, and little worth — 

Who bids for Friendship as it is ? 
'Tis going — going ! — Hear the call ; 

Once, twice, thrice ! — 'Tis very low ! 
*Twas once my hope, my stay, my all — 

But now the broken staff must go ! 

Fame ! — hold the brilliant meteor high — 

Ye millions now's the time to buy ; 
How dazzling every gilded name ! 

How much for Fame ? how much for Fame ? 
Hear how it thunders ! — would you stand 

On high Olympus, far renowned ? 
Now purchase, and a world command ! 

And be with a world's curses crowned ! 

Sweet star of Hope, with ray to shine 

In every sad foreboding breast, 
Save this desponding one of mine — 

Who bids for man's last friend, and best ? 



282 CHILDHOOD. 



Ah, were not mine a bankrupt life, 

This treasure should my soul sustain- 
But Hope and I are now at strife, 
Nor ever may unite again. 

Ambition, Fashion, Show, and Pride, 

I part from all forever now ; 
Grief, in an o' erwhelming tide. 

Has taught my haughty heart to bow. 
By Death, stern sheriff, all bereft, 

I wept, yet humbly kiss the rod ; 
The best of all I still have left, 

My Faith, my Bible, and my God. 



CHILDHOOD, 



Every one can but think sometimes of that happy portion of 
their lives called childhood. The various scenes in which we have 
engaged, and perhaps acted a conspicuous part, are often remem- 
bered with great pleasure, and we sigh for only one hour of such 
enjoyment again. To be sure, the remembrance is sometimes a 
painful one, for then, as now, we often erred ; but there is still a 
consoling thought left us, by which we may excuse ourselves ; that in 
childhood we were not conscious of the extent of the wrong, or capa- 
ble of seeing or judging how our words and actions might affect 
others. 

One great cause of our happiness in childhood, may be attributed 
to that playfulness and gaiety which usually predominate so much 
at that time in our nature. We are always eager and anxious to 
engage in any amusement, or to have new scenes presented to our 
view : to walk, to ride, or to do anything which will gratify this 
strong propensity. Perhaps there is nothing which children relish 
more than stories. Indeed, they are the spice of childhood. And 
can we imagine a more agreeable way of spending time ? How 
quickly does a long winter evening pass away when seated round a 
cheerful fire, and listening to a pleasant story. Not many years 
since, the minds of children were filled with accounts of ghosts and 
witches. But now in their place are substituted generally, more 



MORAL AND MENTAL EDUCATION. 283 



narmless stories ; and perhaps in a majority of cases, religious 
instruction is interwoven throughout. What impressions do things 
learned in childhood make on our minds. They are so deep, that 
they are vivid even in old age. And should we not be thankful that 
we live in an age when superstitious tales are not listened to, and in 
their stead an opportunity is afforded for impressing the young and 
tender mind with religious truths, and impressing them in such a 
manner that they never can forget them. 

In childhood we differ as much in our tastes and amusements as 
in older life. The things which please the most, and yield the 
highest enjoyment to some, create aversion in others. Perhaps this 
is not so much the result of our own natural feeling, but owing 
more to an early and regular training of the mind, or to an influ- 
ence which is about us from our earliest infancy, and which we are 
BO accustomed to yield to, that we are apt to ascribe it to our own 
judgment. In this connection Pope's line, 

" Just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclined/' 

comes to the mind with more than usual force, and to mothers espe- 
cially, when they consider the charge they have entrusted to them, 
and the vast responsibility they are under, and how much of the 
future happiness or misery of this charge depends on them. Seeing 
they have such an influence over their children, how careful should 
they be so to train them as shall be for their best welfare and hap- 
piness. M. F, 



MORAL AND MENTAL EDUCATION. 

The Scotch writers on education have forcibly felt the impor- 
tance of beginning it in early youth. Mr. Stow strongly insists on 
the necessity of beginning moral — not intellectual — training at the 
very earliest age ; and he says, that eighteen years' experience has 
proved most triumphantly the advantages of doing so, and demon- 
strated that " you increase geometrically in power as you descend in 
age, for if training at twelve years of age be as one — at nine it is 
as two--?i>X seven as four — at five as eight — and at three years of 



284 MORAL AND MENTAL EDUCATION. 

age as sixteen.'' This is most instructive and unexceptionable tes- 
timony, and we are convinced that the same principle would apply at 
a still earlier period ; but no children being received by Mr. Stow 
under three years old, he, of course, could speak only of his expe- 
rience from that age upwards. 

A mother may have a charter to extol her blood, but none to spoil 
it by misgovernment ; and it is surprising how soon, and how often, 
this is done. That an object so utterly helpless should be animated 
by so strong a will as we often see exhibited in children of a few 
weeks old, is certainly surprising. Refuse a child what he has been 
imprudently allowed for a few times, and his energy of will can 
hardly be believed. He wills, that is to say, he is determined, to 
obtain the object which he covets ; and if refused, he will often per- 
severe for days in his efforts to conquer his nurse by the energy of 
his crying. If, at birth, the human ijiind is so blank and void as 
Locke and Condillac asserted, whence does this strong determination 
arise ? 

It is impossible that it can be the result of what he has learned 
during a few days of a life principally passed in sleep ; and we are 
rather tempted to admit that this strong will is but the continuance 
of a faculty already familiar to the human soul before it was united 
to the infant body. But, however it may fare with this explanation, 
the fact should teach a mother the importance of training the 
infant from the very first in the way he should go, and of teaching 
him that by his fits of passion he cannot subdue his mother or nurse. 
If this be not done, then mothers must learn, to their own cost — 

" How oft in weak and sickly minds, 
The sweets of kindness lavishly indulged 
Rankle to gall." 

If this be done, the general health of the child will be better, so will 
the tone of his nervous system ; for, doubtless, in the habitual pas- 
sions of infancy are laid the foundations of some of those direful 
nervous disorders which appear in after-life. 

We have been lately introduced to a little girl who is asked every 
morning what she will have for dinner ; it is difficult to find anything 
that can please her: she has run through the whole curriculum of 
toys, so they excite no interest; she is literally "used up" before 
completing the fourth year of her age. What will be the sequel of 
this prologue? 



MORAL AND MENTAL EDUCATION. 285 

While discountenancing everything like what is usually termed 
instruction or book-learning before the seventh year, we think that 
period the most important for the education of the moral man. 
" The lessons of infancy are graven on stone, and the lessons of 
riper years disappear like the nests of birds," is an Arab proverb 
which was told us in the desert, but which holds good in all countries. 
Many philosophers have rightly considered that there could be no 
new formation in the moral man after the seventh year; and most 
nations, by placing the full appreciation of right and wrong at this 
period, show that they consider that " the child is father to the man." 

We have seen how the tone of the child's nervous system may be 
80 strengthened that darkness is deprived of its terrors, and solitude 
of its irksome monotony: the next object is to protect him against 
the consequences of the exaggerated development of the conceptive 
faculties. 

We know how strong are these faculties in early life. The 
strength of conception is shown by the manner in which children 
will remain for hours making strange combinations with the rudest 
things, symbols of new thoughts, as in rapid succession they flit 
across the child's mind. The frequency and vividness of dreams is 
another proof of the strength of the mental power in young chil- 
dren. A little later this activity of mind is shown by the continued 
jumble of words sometimes poured out in such torrents that they 
almost choke the child, who is obliged to stop to take breath. To- 
wards the last years of this first period of life the child begins to 
evince his own views of things, the reminiscences of what he himself 
knew when younger ; and he often makes inquiries astonishing and 
puzzling to the most acute mind. 

This, too, is the period when so many nurses and parents take 
delight in anatomizing the physiognomy of wonder depicted in a 
child's face when his mind is filled with stories of robbers, fairies, 
ghosts, and hobgoblins ; but however amusing this may be to the 
experimenters, it is very pernicious to the nervous system, giving 
undue exaggeration to the imaginative and supernatural faculties, and 
predisposing the mind to romance, credulity, and superstition, to 
hysteria, nervous disorders, and insanity. It is true that this per- 
nicious system has sometimes developed and fostered poetry and 
genius. But is this the object of education ? Is it not rather to 
'prevent the excessive development of those faculties which constitute 



286 MORAL AND MENTAL EDUCATION. 

great poets or men of genius ? We all know that the real poet is 
not an enviable being ; and the poor children of genius, whenever they 
emerge from obscurity, and are by common consent crowned kings 
in their various departments, soon find their crown is indeed a crown 
of thorns, that their sceptre cannot command peace, and that happi- 
ness says to them, " I am not for such as you." God knows when 
and where to make genius spring up to serve His views in the gov- 
ernment of mankind, but education never made genius. 

When a poor stranger comes to our country totally ignorant of 
our language, our manners, and our civilization, common courtesy 
prompts us, while we teach him our language, not to impose on his 
credulity by absurd tales, or an elaborate system of deception. We 
treat him with respect because he is a stranger, and we represent 
things as they are, adapting our description to the nature of his 
understanding, which, like ours, is human. 

A little child is termed a stranger ; then treat him with respect. 
He comes from a far country, from an undiscovered bourne ; but his 
mind is not a barren blank, as supposed by some, but full of knowl- 
edge, power, and love, the mysteries of which he cannot as yet 
reveal, because he knows not our language. Teach him then to 
speak, but beware of imposing on his young credulity, for fear of 
warping the noblest of man's attributes — his intellect. 

We have already hinted that a child should be taught from the 
cradle the stern lesson of that obedience which must be observed 
through life. Thus would his nervous system be spared the con- 
tinued irritation and fretfulness which spring from the still-enter- 
tained hope of doing what he is told not to do ; irritability and vex- 
ation of spirit which, if continued in youth, predispose to hysteria, 
and in later years are sometimes the primary cause of insanity. 
The principal art of governing a child seems to be, to convince him 
fully that he does not live under a weak government, vacillating at 
his caprice, or to be overthrown by his resistance. Let him never 
find himself deceived, either as regards promises of reward or pun- 
ishment, — both should be equally sacred, and should be meted with 
immutable precision ; but in punishing a child, care should be taken 
that he is always thoroughly convinced of the justice of his punish- 
ment : for do not we all remember how long our young minds have 
brooded over some chastisement which we considered inflicted more 
to gratify the passionate anger of the being we had o|fended, than 



MENTAL AND MORAL EDUCATION. 287 



called for by the magnitude of the offence ? This destroys the child's 
confidence in parental justice — the representation of God's ; gives 
him an early acquaintance with the tyranny and fallibility of all 
human authority ; and brings home to his mind the conviction that 
his best efforts may be misinterpreted, and that the "world is given 
up to misgovernment. Such is the principle of all good government, 
which must guide parents in their management of children, as it 
does those who rule over nations, and guides even the omnipotent 
Ruler of all ; for history is but the unavoidable justice of God 
made visible to man. 

But, notwithstanding every care and anxiety on the part of 
his parents that all their acts should appear to a child weighed in 
the balances of truth and justice, he is keen enough to notice the 
failings of those around him. When the charm of maternal infalli- 
bility is impaired — and that is very soon — so soon as the belief in 
the paternal infallibility has been shaken, the belief in God should 
be carefully instilled into his mind, that he may be, at least, kept in 
awe by the unseen, unknown power, before whom from his very 
cradle he should have been accustomed to see both his parents kneel- 
ing with submissive features. 

In some families, when the child lifts up his little hands to say his 
prayers at night, the mother makes him recount to her what he has 
done amiss during the day, and ask God's forgiveness. This plan 
cannot be too strongly recommended, as this constant communing 
with a higher power must help to give a right bias to the moral 
principle. 

By this it will appear how much we deprecate the advice sometimes 
given, to delay the religious instruction of a child until his reason 
has grown strong. In latter times religion has been treated with 
more courtesy, — and still we must object to the cold and solemn 
respect with which it is now bowed out of education, as in the last 
century it was, with much politeness, bowed out of the circle of phi- 
losophy and science. 

We object to those who seem to consider religion a peculiar but 
useful branch of human instruction, like music or mathematics, 
which should be taught only on Sundays by some professor of reli- 
gion, parson, priest, or minister. A man is not to be made like a 
sandwich, by placing side by side slices of his components ; they 
must be melted down into one organic whole. If religion is to be 



288 EECOLLECTIONS OF HOME. 

any thing in education, it must be accepted as a living principle, and 
allowed to give life to all man's conceptions, and to sanctify all his 
actions. — Tilt's Elements of Sealth, 



RECOLLECTIONS OF HOME. 

MT MOTHER'S ROOM. 

I AM an old woman now. My hair is whitened with the frosts of 
many winters. In a few years I shall have reached the age of three 
score and ten, the ordinary limit of human life. 

I am residing at my paternal home, stricken with the infirmities 
of declining life, and mostly confined within the walls of my solitary 
chamber. My household is small, consisting only of my maid 
Hitty, and myself. It is quiet enough too, for Hitty goes about 
the house with the soft and careful tread of a cat, and except upon 
extraordinary occasions, she has never, until recently, been known to 
raise her voice above its ordinary pitch, which is remarkably low. 
Now, however, that I am dull of hearing, she succeeds in speaking 
sufficiently loud. It is seldom that I am not able without any weari- 
some efibrt on my own part to obtain a distinct apprehension of her 
words. She is a treasure to me, this faithful maid ! But I am 
admonished that the term maid is obsolete in our republican land, 
that some other must be substituted, more in harmony with our 
principles of social equality. Well, be it so. I will try in this 
instance to conform to modern usage. But I must be pardoned if 
long habits and weak memory sometimes lead me astray. Besides, 
I am conservative ; my tastes and prejudices all inclining me to 
the customs of ''Auld Lang Syne." 

I am writing in the chamber once occupied by my parents, in the 
very room where I first opened my eyes upon this changeful world. 
How striking a contrast to its present quiet is the noisy mirth with 
which I can remember — myself nothing loth to contribute a full 
share — my brothers and sisters used to make it echo. It was my 
mother's room, and mothers' rooms are usually privileged places for 
children, at least so was this of our dear mother's. To be sure we 



RECULLECTIONS OF HOME. 280 

were not allowed to carry our noisy playthings there, nor to go with- 
out leave to her work-basket or drawers. But we girls could convey 
thither our dolls and our rag-babies, with their miniature bedsteads, 
and the patchwork quilts we had begun to make, and the pretty 
pieces of calico or gingham from which we designed to fit them 
dresses. And there, we always found a ready and willing hand 
to help us in tastefully arranging the one, and in fitting the 
other to the form of our inanimate pets. And the boys could draw 
on their slates, and play their geography cards, and occasionally spin 
their tops. This playing geography cards was quite a rare amuse- 
ment in those days. Geographical cards, or cards of any kind, com- 
bining amusement with instruction, were rare novelties then. Among 
my circle of young acquaintances, I never met with but three sets, and 
they were all exactly similar to those of my brothers. The time for 
circulating them in every variety of form, of making them illustra- 
tive of almost every possible subject, without excepting those of 
Divine Revelation, had not yet arrived. My good grandfather 
would have been much shocked, if he could have looked forward to 
such a card-patronizing generation. I well remember his strong 
expressions of disapprobation when my aunt Sarah presented the 
boys with their geographical cards. It took much eloquence, and a 
long time for my parents to reconcile him to their use. He took 
one extreme concerning these juvenile possessions, but then the 
present age have surely wandered to another as wide. 

But there were stronger inducements for us children to seek our 
mother's room, than those which have already been enumerated. 
She had many an interesting story to tell us of her early life, and 
of her brothers and sisters, when they were children, just like our- 
selves. She had likewise a fund of stories, that she had heard or 
read, on hand, and there was nothing that we liked better, than to 
sit and listen to them. These stories were often from the Bible, for 
she was very desirous that we should all learn to love that sacred 
book. Sometimes after telling a story in her own words, and she 
knew well how to tell stories, she would read over the whole account, 
as it was in the Bible ; and she would often read to us from this 
.sacred book concerning the Saviour, and how much he had done to 
save sinners. In a sweetly persuasive manner she would urge us to 
seek his love and favor. It was no fault of hers, that we did not in 
early childhood choose God for our portion. And it is a striking 

19 



290 RECOLLECTIONS OF HOME. 

fact that when, as I trust, we began to prepare for a life beyond the 
grave, we all referred to her early counsels, as the most effective 
among human instrumentalities of bringing our hearts to God. 

We always sought this favorite room, whenever anything had hap- 
pened to cause us more pleasure than usual, or when anything had 
arisen to mar our enjoyment. We well knew that our dear mother's 
sympathy was always ready for all our childish joys, and sorrows. 
She was intimately acquainted with the child-world ; had made her- 
self familiar with the sources both of its enjoyment and grief. She 
never seemed at a loss to comprehend our feelings, although as it is 
common with children, they were often but imperfectly expressed. 
She entered into them at once, and her joy in our joy rendered it 
doubly grateful, while her sympathy in our disappointments and 
grief made it much easier for us to bear them, without repining. 
Her gentle words soothed our ruffled feelings, and often quelled our 
excited passions. She never failed, kindly, but plainly to point out 
to us where we had been wrong in any transaction which had occn- 
sioned us sorrow. And thus, when we considered ourselves aggrieved, 
she many times led us to think more of our own share of the blame 
than of the faults of our companions. She taught us too, many a 
lesson of forgiveness. And here she was truly an apt teacher, for 
she was herself a pattern of meekness. Hers was that enduring 
charity which suffereth long, and is kind. 

Ah yes, this chamber has witnessed many an impressive lesson, 
from the lips of our loving and watchful mother ! Would that in the 
days of my youth, I had more heedfully regarded them ! Here she 
taught us to lisp our first simple prayers. And here she often 
prayed with us, that we might early love and serve God. Ii had 
been a happy thing if our hearts had sincerely joined in those 
prayers, and if we had consecrated the freshness of our young lives 
to our Creator. It would have saved us from much of sin and sor- 
row to have chosen him for our portion tJien. It would have given us 
a peace and happiness, which nothing beside can confer. There 
would have been no looking back with remorseful anguish, to long 
years of alienation from God, and the struggle between the evil and 
the good would have been far less severe than when in later years 
we attempted to live unto Christ. 

My father sometimes joined our little party in this favorite room, 
but his image is not so inseparably connected with it, as hers who 



THE MORN OF LIFE. 291 



was its almost constant tenant. A chamber adjoining, fitted up for 
a library, was more emphatically Ms room. There he often taught 
us of God and heaven, and holy things, and enjoined us to choose 
that good part which could not be taken from us. 

At the time of which I am writing, it was not usual for Christian 
parents to urge upon their young children, the claims of personal 
religion. But our parents believed, that even in early childhood 
God might be loved and served, and they therefore sought to have us 
remember him in our young days. 



THE MOKN OF LIFE. 

But these apart. In sacred memory lives 
The morn of life : first morn of endless days. 
Most joyful morn ; nor yet for nought the joy ] 
A being of eternal date commenced ; 
A young immortal then was born ; and who 
Shall tell what strange variety of bliss 
Burst on the infant soul, when first it looked 
Abroad on God's creation, fair, and saw 
The glorious earth, and glorious heaven, and face 
Of man sublime ? and saw all new and felt 
All new ? when thought awoke ; thought never more 
To sleep? when first it saw, heard, reasoned, willed 
And triumphed in the warmth of conscious Hfe ? 

Nor happy only ; but the cause of joy, 
Which those who never tasted always mourned. 
"What tongue? no tongue shall tell what bliss o'erflowed 
The mother's tender heart, while round her hung 
The ofispring of her love, and lisped her name ; 
As living jewels dropt unstained from heaven, 
That made her fairer far, and sweeter seem, 
Than every ornament of costliest hue. 
And who hath not been ravished, as she passed 
With all her playful band of little ones. 
Like Luna, with her daughters of the sky, 
Walking in matron majesty and grace ? • 

POLLOK, 



292 THE ANTIDOTE OF CARE. 

A MISSIONAKY'S FAREWELL TO HIS PARENTS. 

On Leaving them for India Nov, 7, 1832, 

Mr fiither and my mother ! ye have seen me for the last I 
How like a dream the changing scenes of my early years have passed ; 
For you and me those scenes are closed — our visit on earth is o'er — 
I leave you for the ocean — and the palms of a foreign shore. 

My mother, did ye think it, when I slept upon your knee, 
That so soon from you your darling child should be severed by the sea ? 
Perchance ye thought that when I died, ye should lay me on ray bier ; 
Or did ye hope, in your own last hour, the voice of your son to hear ? 

My father and my mother — ye my voice no more shall hear ! 

When ye toss upon your dying couch, your son will not be near ; 

But his prayer shall rise to God for you, that joy be round your bed, 

And your hopes be bright in the solemn hour, when ye journey to the dead ! 

My father and my mother ! — not again ye take this hand, 

Till, clothed with immortality, we tread the spirit land ; 

I shall meet you there — T shall meet you there — but not to mingle tears — 

I have no farewell to bid you more, for the everlasting years. 

N. Brown. 



THE ANTIDOTE OF CARE. 

In the collection of Village Hymns by Dr. Nettleton, is one which 
probably more than all the rest, has been read and sung. Those 
familiar with that collection, need only be reminded of the first line : 

" I love to steal awhile away," &c. 

With most Christians, its words throughout are household; and 
next to the pious breathings of David, come home to their experience, 
and give wings to their aspirations. The spirit of the hymn so 
Christian and subdued, so pure and hopeful in thought, so beautiful 
in expression, and true in fact, make it one of the few things not 
soon to die. Probably few of the thousands whom it has refreshed 
and delighted, know its author is still living. In the quiet town of 
Monson,* not far from Springfield, she may be found, and though 
her "toilsome day" is drawing to a close, she has still a hand and 
heart ready for every good work. 

* Massachusetts. 



THE ANTIDOTE OF CARE. 293 

Being one of the many to whom her spirit seemed kindred through 
that "twilight hymn," and supposing such a hymn — one which 
embalms itself so readily in all hearts — might have a history worth 
perusing, though an entire stranger, at some sacrifice an interview was 
sought at her obscure, yet very delightful home. She lives in a 
small white cottage, embowered with shade trees and shrubbery — 
everything fresh and neat around, and in front a spacious lawn, 
skirted by a solemn and sombre forest, just where we might suppose 
a quiet and chastened fancy would love to revel. As I gazed on her 
countenance, of which the " twilight hymn" is the happiest index, and 
listened to conversation so chaste, and pure, and holy, it brought to 
mind the well known stanza ; 

" Full many a gem of purest ray serene, 
The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear ; 
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air." 

The occasion of the hymn as related by herself, was this : At one 
time she had to walk in the lowliest vale. She was pressed sore with 
poverty, and obliged to struggle hard to help support a large family, 
part of whom were invalids, with several small children. In one of 
the darkest periods, shut up in a small unfinished house, where not 
a retired spot could be found ; invaded by sickness, and anxiously 
toiling from morning till night, when the cares of the day were over, 
she used to steal out to her quiet and shady retreat, and there on her 
knees, " where none but God were near," she would pour out her soul 
and draw from the living well. There she gathered strength for the 
"toilsome day." 

Her visits to this loved spot so regular at the evening hour, drew 
the attention of a neighbor, a lady of wealth and influence. This lady, 
(long since gone to her rest in heaven,) after observing her for some 
time, was led to pass censure in the presence of others, and more than 
intimated that instead of rambling out in the evening, she had better 
be at home with her children. Nothing of course could be more crush- 
ing to a sensitive heart. She was grieved above measure that an 
hour's relief from most exhausting labors, employed in communing 
with the God she adored, should be construed into neglect of her 
family. Grieved and sorrowful, she sat down at evening with a babe 
in her arms — the tears of anguish rolling from her eyes, as she said 



594 THE ANTIDOTE OF CARE. 

and wrote her, "Apology for her twilight rambles," intending the 
next day to send it to the lady whose words had so lacerated her 
heart. — But feeling keenly the contrast of condition, she never had 
courage to send it, and laid it by, supposing forever. It never once 
occurred to her that a hymn could come out of it, till about the time 
Dr. Nettleton was preparing his collections, when a friend in looking 
over her manuscripts to find something suitable for that collection, 
was overjoyed to bring this gem to light, and at once had it inserted. 
None but herself, not even her husband, knew of the hymn until it 
was published. Some stanzas were stricken from the original copy, 
and alterations made in others — alterations necessary for its general 
use, but which, if the circumstances could always be known, we might 
wish had not been made — as in the first stanza : 

" I love to steal awhile away 
From every cumb'ring care." 

What can be more touching, in view of the circumstances, than the 
original, which reads : 

" I love to steal awhile away 
From little ones and care. 
And spend the hours of setting day 
In humble, grateful prayer.^' 

In the original copy were nine stanzas, from which selection was 
made, and some left behind, which, to say the least, are equal to any 
published, as for example, the seventh, in allusion to death: 

" I love to meditate on death — 
When will his message come 
With kindly smile to steal ray breath, 
And waft an Exile home V 

What thought more beautiful, more comforting, than death bereft 
of terrors, wafting the Exile home ? 

It may be well to add, that a pen gifted as such a hymn would 
indicate, has not been wholly idle. Amid scenes of trial such as fall 
to the lot of few, she has written for periodicals, besides twenty or 
more hymns, some of which are published, and some are still in 
obscurity. 

Long may this good mother in Israel be spared to distil her 
influence — gentle as the dew of Hcrmon, and receive the bless- 
ing which the Lord will command, " even life for evermore." 
N. Y. Observer, 




DELIVEK THEl' 



A MODEL CHARACTER. 29,^ 



A MODEL CHARACTER. 

There is something touchinglj beautiful in the history of Daniel. 
Every incident of his life which is recorded is so marked by firm 
principle and high purpose, all controlled and guided by divine 
power, that the mind loves to dwell upon it. We first find him a 
captive child in Babylon. He was from the tribe of Judah ; but of 
his parents we know nothing, only what we read from his strict in- 
tegrity in resisting the temptations of the voluptuous court into which 
himself and companions were brought. How diligently he had been 
instructed in the law of his God, we learn from his "purpose of 
heart that he would not defile himself with the portion of the king's 
meat, nor with the wine which he drank." This was not the spon- 
taneous growth of a human heart, but had been fixed there by the 
interweaving of the commands and filial fear of God with all his 
thoughts and actions. 

He had been taught to fear God more than any earthly monarch ; 
— to obey implicitly his laws, trusting in His almighty arm for pro- 
tection and help. He had been taught that " His favor was life, 
and His loving-kindness better than life;" therefore he hesitated not 
to refuse the dainty food, and strong drink which were appointed 
him. Yet the refusal was not made in a haughty boastful manner, 
but with modest respectful decision, in the form of a request. He 
asked that he might not defile himself, and said, " Prove thy servants 
I beseech thee ten days ; then let our countenances be looked 
upon, and as thou seest, deal with thy servants." This request was 
granted, and he found favor in the heathen court. Oh how lovely is 
virtue ! — and the manifestation of firm adherence to principle, com- 
mends itself even to the ungodly. 

This was his introduction into public life, — an eventful life, — full 
of honor and distinction. Enough of knowledge and wisdom were 
his, — of glory and adulation from men, and favor from Heaven, to 
make a common mind giddy, and to inflate a common heart with 
pride and self-complacency. He, however, received and bore all 
these distinctions with meekness, while he did not hesitate to declare 



296 A MODEL CHARACTER. 



the sin and doom of those, from whom he was receiving all this 
worldly aggrandizement. The fear of losing his office as ruler of 
the whole province of Babylon, would have deterred a worldly mind 
from telling in the ear of Nebuchadnezzar, that he was " to be driven 
from among men," with reason dethroned, " to dwell with beasts, and 
eat grass as an ox ;" exhorting him to " break off his sins and iniqui- 
ties, if perchance it might prove a lengthening of his tranquility;" 
— or to have deciphered before Belshazzar that terrible writing on 
the wall ; — " Thou art weighed in the balances and found wanting, — 
thy kingdom is divided and given to the Medes and Persians." But 
Daniel conferred not with offices of state, or rewards, while declar- 
ing the counsels of God. He stood a fearless and undaunted 
defender of truth ; and God fulfilled what he had spoken. " He 
that honoreth God, him will God honor;" and the ignoble death of 
the Chaldean monarch, a.nd subjugation of the kingdom, threw no 
blight upon Daniel's prospects or fame. In the new court, Daniel 
was "preferred above all, because^ an excellent spirit was in him." 
Those who regarded him with jealous envy, confessed they could find 
no fault or error in him, and to carry out their malicious designs, said, 
"we must find it concerning the law of his God." His adherence 
to his God had been so often tested, that they knew they could assail 
and overcome him there. They had too often heard his humble con- 
fiding petitions before heaven's King, to expect that he would cease 
to pray. They had too often witnessed his fidelity to principles to 
expect that he would for a day seem to yield so far, as to pray in 
any but his wonted place, and at the appointed hour, for this hi? 
heart-sacrifice. At their request the decree was ratified, " that no 
petition be made to God or man, for thirty days, save of the king ; 
whoever disobeyed, should be cast into the den of lions." 

All that had befallen Daniel before sinks into insignificance in 
view of this. The intrinsic beauty of his character had never shone 
so dazzlingly bright, as when he knew that his death warrant was 
issued, " he went into his house ; and his windows being open in his 
chamber toward Jerusalem, he kneeled upon his knees three times a 
day, and prayed, and gave thanks before his God as he did aforetime." 
Mingled with his prayers were praises. No doubt he chanted, in 
sweet subdued strains, " I will lift up mine eyes to the hills from 
whence comcth my help. In God I have put my trust, I will not 
fear what man can do unto me. What time I am afraid I will truat 



A MODEL CHARACTER. 297 



in thee," — while to his calm spirit the responses came back, " He 
that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High, shalt abide 
under the shadow of the Almighty." "Thou shalt tread upon the 
lion and adder, the young lion and dragon shalt thou trample under 
feet." Ministering angels were about him, for even the monarch 
whose word consigned him thither, was so challenged by his unwaver- 
ing faith, that he said to him as he was cast into the den of lions, 
"Thy God whom thou servest continually, he will deliver thee;" an4 
then turned to his palace to pass a sleepless night in fasting and 
sadness. 

Daniel was now where nothing but a miracle could save him, and 
the malice of the enemies of God was triumphant, — as when Jesus 
lay in the tomb of Joseph, with the great stone at the door, and 
sentinels keeping the guard. But the presence of the angel subdued 
the fury of the lions, and they were as harmless lambs at Daniel's 
feet. In reply to the king who came very early in the morning to 
inquire "if Daniel's God were in very deed able to deliver from the 
jaws of the lions," he said: — 

" My God hath sent his angel, and hath shut the lions' mouths, 
chat they have not hurt me." " So Daniel was taken up out of the 
den, and no manner of hurt was found upon him, because, he believed 
in his God." This was the secret of his actions and successes 
through all his subsequent life, — the crowning excellence of his 
character — firm belief in God : — and through his conduct the name 
and power of Jehovah was made known to that mighty idolatrous 
nation. The times of Daniel were peculiar, Satan had joined issue 
with the chosen people of God, and had well nigh destroyed them. 
They were in captivity, and their temple in ruins. 

Each period in the world's history has been peculiar, and demanded 
peculiar characteristics of its men. The present is a peculiar time, 
demanding a host of Daniels to exemplify in their lives the princi- 
ples of virtue and integrity, and to vindicate the cause of truth and 
righteousness ; and we seize upon the exhibition of his character, 
to impress upon parents its excellency, and the necessity of implanting 
a like fixedness of aim, and unfaltering purpose of heart in their 
children. It needs no prophet's ken, neither is it a vagary of the 
imagination, to see that they must fight the battle between truth and 
^rror, virtue and vice, liberty and the despotism of unrestrained 
passions and ignorant superstition. The hosts are mustering, — they 



298 A MODEL CHARACTER. 

are already in the field ; and assuming every possible form for 
attack. The lions' dens are all prepared, and the enemy waits not 
to doom them there when he hears the voice of prayer from their 
chambers, but seeks to lure them in beforehand with honeyed words. 
The roaring lions are let loose "seeking whom they may devour." 
The welfare of our country and the world demands the utmost efforts 
of strong men, with true hearts and undaunted courage. The pre- 
parations to meet this demand, must be an individual work. Parents 
must feel that the work is theirs ; that if they fail to train their 
children to meet the emergency, all may be lost. 

Father ! mother ! thy darling son is just stepping forth into the 
world, where he must meet the vices and temptations which stalk at 
noonday, unabashed, through the length and breadth of the world ; 
for the whole world is now an open arena before him. Have you so 
diligently instructed him, by precept and example, in all the ways of 
honesty, virtue, and religion, that he will not listen to their insinua- 
tions, nor be led into their snares, but be able to answer to your 
anxious inquiry : " My God hath sent his angel, and hath shut these 
lions' mouths, that they have not hurt me ?" 

Thy son, perchance, must sit in a nation's councils, form laws, 
and see them executed. Is his mind so stored with wisdom, and his 
heart so nerved with high and holy principles, that he will not 
cringe for popular favor, nor do reverence to the vices of kings ? 

Thy son must go forth in the battle of life, and stand with 
scoffers and infidels who are tearing in pieces the word of God, and 
stamping it beneath their unholy feet, while in their bitter rage they 
devour the souls of men. Is his spirit so imbued with the precepts 
and love of that word, that he can return from the fight unharmed, 
saying : " My God sent his angel, and shut those lions' mouths that 
they did not hurt me ?" 

Thy son may, ere long, be brought to the test concerning the law 
of his God ; a penalty may await his religious faith. The scourge, 
the rack, the furnace, or the lions' den, may be the price of a single 
petition to the Lord of heaven. Has the sustaining grace of God 
been imparted to his soul in connection with thy earnest prayers 
and faithful teachings, that will enable him to walk unharmed through 
the fires, having the form of the Son of God as a shield ; that he can 
with calm serenity say : " My God sent his angel, and all the malice 
of wicked men hath not hurt me ?" 



REMEMBRANCES OF THE AGED. 299 

Oh ! let this truth be impressed deep in our souls, and actuate all 
our conduct, that nothing but a firm belief in God and his word will 
save our children from misery and degradation, and make them 
truly honorable and happy. Mrs. M. G. Clarke. 



REMEMBRANCES OF THE AGED. 



"The fathers, where are they?" Aye! where? I look back 
even a brief space along life's highway, and recall successively the 
aged forms I used to reverence. Once they were many ; but now 
that remembered past is dotted with grave-stones, where the loved 
and venerated, having fulfilled their mission in life, have lain down 
in their long slumber. 

There was a kind old man, whose house I used to pass on my way 
to school, (and, by the way, there seemed to me more flowers and 
sunshine there than elsewhere,) and he used to stand in the 
gateway for hours in the bright summer mornings, speaking a kind 
word to every child who passed. I used to look for him there, and 
if perchance he were absent, I passed on with a shadow on my heart. 
I still retain a little purple covered book which he gave me one New 
Year's morning, with my name in his own writing upon the fly-leaf. 
His memory will remain fresh in my heart when years have faded 
out the writing. 

There was an old lady, too, who always sat at the south window of 
her sitting-room, through the summer, where the high white rose- 
bush, leaning in at the open sash, mingled its blossoms with the 
rich and fragrant damask that grew upon the other side. In winter 
she sat in the large easy chair beside her glowing wood-fire where the 
red coals glistened upon a still redder hearth, for such a modern in- 
novation as a stove or furnace, was not tolerated in that old fashioned 
household. 

She always had the best peaches and apples, the prettiest kittens, 
and the most entertaining story books and papers. Many an hour 
have I sat at her feet, reading aloud to her some juvenile paper, or gaz- 



300 REMEMBRANCES OP THE AGED. 

ing with an awe that thrilled to mj fingers' ends, on some treasured 
relics of her departed daughter's childhood, in the form of various 
little ingenious pictures and toys. Her voice was soft and low, and 
a gentle admonition or kind word of commendation fell upon my 
ear as from an oracle. She and her decrepit husband, whom she 
always addressed as "James, dear," have long since gone home. 

There was one more — long cherished be his memory — whose 
presence and counsel gladdened and strengthened my childhood ; 
and many hearts beat quicker and eyes glisten at the mention of his 
name. Even now I seem to hear his quick step upon the school- 
house stairs, and the smart rap of his cane upon the door. He enters, 
bowing right and left, as smiles and brightening eyes welcome him ; 
he places his hat upon his cane and leans them together in a corner 
of the room, and seated at the desk he examines class after class, 
smiling upon, and encouraging the diffident, and puzzling with 
knotty questions the brightest and boldest. How heartily he laughs 
with the scholars over some ancient joke, which he draws from his 
inexhaustible fund of anecdotes for their amusement, or, by way of 
illustration. How accurately he can furnish the date of every event 
of local or historical interest, from the very settlement of the 
country. 

How energetically he reads some spirited sentence, and how strong 
and musical his sonorous voice mingles with the voices of the little 
children as we sing Old Hundred ! 

And now he prays ! The room is still, and soft breezes from the 
open window steal in and dally with the silvery locks that fall wavily 
over his collar. Dear old man ! his last prayer was long since 
offered, his last earthly hymn of praise exchanged for the song of the 
redeemed in heaven, and the grass has grown green and high above 
the hands that so often rested upon the head of childhood in bless- 
ing ! 



"And dead must be the heart, the bosom cold, 
Which warms not with affection for the old.'' 



LIFT UP THY HEART. 80l' 



LIFT UP THY HEART, AND LOWLY BEND THE KNEE 

BY HENRY C. FOED. 

Go where the silvery moon is shining brightly, 

As once it shone in still Gethsemane ; 
Go where the pale stars gleam in beauty nightly, 

As once they beamed upon the Trinity ; 
Where pearly dewdrops kiss the sweet flowers lightly, 

In solitude with none save God and thee — 

Lift up thy heart and lowly bend the knee. 

"Where the clear brooklet murmurs on in gladness, 

Rolling its waters to a troubled sea ; 
Where autumn's forest parts its leaves in sadness. 

Emblems of life and frail mortality ; 
Seek its dark shades ere thou art gone forever, 

Ere thou art lost in far eternity — 

Lift up thy heart, and lowly bend the knee 

Wander in spring-time where pure flowers springing, 

Open their petals to the winsome bee ; 
Listen in summer where the wild winds ringing, 

Carol a mighty anthem for the free ; 
Watch the sere leaf when autumn stern assailing. 

Chills the last beauty of the dying tree ; 
Mark the loud roar of winter's storm bewailing, 

The end of all the happy things that be — 
Exalt thy soul— all worldly thought unveiling— 

Lift up thy heart, and lowly bend the knee. 

When sorrow pales thee — in thy closet kneeling, 
Breathe unto God thine ever earnest prayer ; 

A holy light throughout thy bosom stealing ; 
Will fast dispel the darkness of despair ; 

And heavenly calm, a Saviour's love revealing, 
With trusting faith will free thy soul from care. 

When the dark clouds of earthly strife assail thee. 

Lift up thy heart, and lowly bend the knee. 



302 EXERCISE. 



EXERCISE. 

" Let us then be up and doing, 

With a heart for any fate ; 
Still achieving, still pursuing, 

Learn to labor and to wait." 

Who that has watched the ever varying motions of youth, and 
seen the restless impatience with which they endure restraint, can 
doubt that exercise is indispensable in forming a good physical and 
mental organization, and that such a super-abundance of nervous 
fluid should be allowed to propel itself, into all the natural sports of 
childhood. Children should be aided in their habits of exercise by 
the suggestions of a kind parent or judicious friend. They should 
be taught to love useful and industrial habits. Being creatures of 
imitation, they love to do as others do ; and nothing will delight a 
little girl more than to 'be allowed to do just what her mother is do- 
ing ; and although she may be sometimes troublesome by the impro- 
per performance of labor, yet the effort is made, and it will prompt 
a desire for a second trial, a second for a third, and so on until the 
habit is formed and the art is perfected. 

A great deal has been written and said on the best invented plays 
for the exercise of the young ; dancing, jumping rope, calisthenics, 
mountain walks, horseback riding, &c. The evil influences connected 
with some of these are a sufficient reason why they should be totally 
abandoned. I have seen little girls jump the rope, until they were 
completely prostrated, in striving to rival some little competitor in 
the number of unbroken swings. Only a few days since, I noticed 
the death of a little girl in New York, occasioned by jumping the 
rope two hundred times in succession. This violent and unnatural 
exercise has long been approved of and recommended. Dancing has 
been resorted to by the high and low, rich and poor ; in the palace, 
in the gardens, on the heath, and on the moor ; by the barbarous 
and the civilized. It is an exercise as elevated as might be expected 
from those dark and ignorant portions of the globe, where light and 
civilization have never dawned upon the human mind. Where the 



EXERCISE. 308 



female is a slave to the baser passions of man, and personal cleanli- 
ness, household comforts, and the cheerful interchange of social do- 
mestic intercourse, never come. It is well enough for minds thus 
debased to spend their miserable leisure in kicking and jumping upon 
the harvest green. And there is a refined dancing, practised by 
those in the higher walks of life, who have been drilled night after 
night in the art of step and figure. These cannot be classed among 
the intellectual, for intellect has its seat in the head and not in the 
feet. We are too utilitarian in our feelings and habits to require an 
importation of this kind. And here, too, where all classes are intel- 
lectually and religiously trained, and so much industry is required to 
preserve the purity and health of body and mind, and where the poor 
and the sick make such unremitting demands upon the active 
and generous sympathies of our hearts, and the practical and 
efficient co-operation of our feet and hands, it is a libel on the purity 
of our morals, to descend to those indelicate waltzes, those pernicious 
and destructive public balls, where the whole night is often appro- 
priated, with its paraphernalia of show, music, dress, wines, cham- 
pagne, false lights, false teeth, false hair, false hearts, rouge, and 
perfumery, to smooth the wrinkles and disguise the age ; and worse 
than all, the false pretensions of love that are often made to the 
confiding and inexperienced girl, who has not been thoroughly initi- 
ated in the arts of coquetry and deceit. No female can long endure 
the excitement of the public ball-room, without a nervous and broken 
down constitution. There is no place, not even the theatre, that 
will afford such a rich harvest as the ball-room, of the delirium of 
reason, the bewildering infatuation of pleasure, the reckless and 
daring prodigality of health and strength, from the imprudent expo- 
sure of feet and limbs to the chilly damps of night dews, frost, and 
snows. 

No amusement should be indulged, to the exclusion of those more 
homely duties of sweeping, dusting, putting the parlors in order, 
washing dishes, making bread, preparing meats and vegetables in a 
digestible manner. These, and innumerable other little services, in- 
terspersed with walks and rides in the open air, will afford them not 
only fine exercise of limbs and chest, but will give them a practical 
acquaintance with those domestic arrangements, which are so indis- 
pensable to every well regulated household. 

The appliance of the sciences, (with which the young lady is daily 



«04 EXERCISE. 



toiling to store the mind) may give a finer relish to those varied and 
complicated duties : viz.; the many changes produced by chemical 
combinations, the affinities which different bodies have for each other, 
the definite and indefinite proportions by which such nice and dis- 
tinct combinations are formed; in calculating mathematically 
the saving of expense to parents by each hour's labor of a 
faithful and affectionate daughter, in the economical arrangement 
of food and fuel ; of care, in preserving the furniture from the 
merciless bruises, and the crockery from those avalanche crashes 
of careless and disinterested persons who may be employed. 
Physiology may be applied in looking after the young of the flock, 
(the little brothers and sisters,) preventing untimely falls and other 
accidents to which they are exposed without a guide, and providing 
against atmospheric changes by suitable articles of raiment. 

Children may be easily taught to love labor, if they commence in 
season. Habits of industry are as necessary to a high moral senti- 
ment as to a vigorous physical ability. Very little good will result 
from the loftiest conception of the mightiest intellect, unless it be 
accompanied by some practical demonstration to the world. The 
pleasures of those wonderful inventions in steam and electricity 
could never have gladdened our homes, by the swift transportation 
of absent friends to our firesides, and the lightning speed intelli- 
gence from distant lands, had not these thoughts found hands to 
execute their designs. A young lady may receive the highest honors 
which can be conferred on literary achievements, still, if she be 
wanting in those practical lessons in domestic economy and house- 
keeping, if she be placed at the head of a family, she will be but a 
miserable wife and mother, when left dependant (as most of us are 
at the present time) on some of green Erin's greener lasses, who will 
promise to do " every thing," but in truth can do nothing as it 
should be done; who knows not .even the name of our common 
kitchen furniture. 

Then let our daughters be taught self-reliance, and as the poet 
3ay8 : 

" Be knowing in all needle-work, 
And shine in dairy and in kitchen too, 
As in the parlor." 

G. M. J. 



RECOLLECTIONS OF MY HOME. 305 



RECOLLECTIONS OF MY HOME. 

MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS. 

I HAVE passed a sleepless night. Visions of the loved and loving, 
who have long since departed to the far country, have disturbed my 
slumbers, and carried me back to the days of childhood and youth. 
The lost and lamented companions of my early life, with their sweet 
familiar faces, have gathered around me, giving rise to thoughts and 
feelings too intense for utterance. Oh, it is a sad thing for the 
lonely to look back upon the time, when they were blessed with 
faithful and devoted parents, with affectionate brothers and sisters, 
and with all the dear delights of a social and happy home. Their 
deprivation and solitude seem harder to be borne, when contrasted 
with the vivid remembrances of scenes, so entirely different. 

I am the last of my near kindred. I have survived my faithful 
parents, my beloved sisters, and my frank and generous brothers. 
I have survived too the husband of my love, and my own cherished 
children. I am alone in the world now; but the images of the 
lamented dead are ever around me. 

Still I have much cause for thankfulness. All the dear ones, 
who have taken their last journey, left behind them a good assurance, 
that its end would be both peaceful and happy. This is the only 
consolation, which the heart, stricken by the loss of beloved friends, 
can admit. And I bless God for the hope, which through his 
abounding grace he hath given me, of meeting them in a world 
where there shall be no more separation. 

One of the earliest recollections of my life, is connected with my 
father's purchase of a little wagon, of which Henry, my then baby 
brother, and myself were to be joint owners. I was three years and 
a half old, when the purchase was made, and young as I was, I can 
even at this distant day recal its exact appearance. My delight 
knew no bounds, when I was placed upon the seat, for a pleasant 
ride. Hepsy, our "little girl," as she was called until past 
eighteen, seemed to enjoy drawing it as much as I did being 
drawn. But Henry raised a loud cry, when an attempt was first 

20 



806 BECOLLECTIONS OF MY HOME. 

made to put him in the little vehicle, and it was several days, before 
he appeared quite at his ease while riding. In a short time, how- 
ever, he began to be pleased with it, and would laugh and crow, 
whenever he saw it brought to the door. We never wearied of these 
rides, but were sorry to discontinue them, even after we were con- 
sidered too old for such an indulgence, and after another claimant 
for the use of the carriage in the person of a blue-eyed little sister, 
had made its appearance in the family. We both dearly loved our 
little Elsy, as the babe was called, after our maternal grandmother, 
and longed for the time when she would be old enough to run about 
and play with us. 

When I was about two years old, my mother had a severe attack 
of illness, and for a long time afterwards her health was extremely 
delicate. In consequence of this, my aunt Sarah prevailed upon my 
parents to allow Robert my elder brother to reside in her family^ 
until my mother's health should be somewhat restored. Her resi- 
dence was in another state, nearly a hundred miles distant from the 
town in which my father lived ; so that when Robert returned home, 
just after he had reached his seventh year, no one in the family, 
excepting my father, had seen him for nearly three years. His 
return was a joyful event to us all, for he was full of mirth and 
good humor. Henry and myself were delighted with our new play- 
fellow, although he sometimes annoyed me by insisting, that he loved 
Aunt Sarah quite as well as he did mother. Even, at the early age 
of five, I was jealous of my mother's rights, and ready to resent any 
mfringement upon them. And I could not understand, how it was 
that one of her own children could love another woman as well as 
herself. 

Soon after little Elsy had learned to prattle in her pretty childish 
way, and to follow us all about over the house, and yard, and 
garden, God gave us another sister, with bright black eyes, and 
hair which, before she was a year old, curled all over her head. 
My mother named her Ruth, in remembrance of an early friend of 
hers, who died in youth, and whom she fancied she resembled. 
She was an uncommonly bright and lovely infant, and the cherished 
pet of the whole family. She lived through three bright summers, 
and every succeeding day of her young life, she entwined herself 
more closely about our hearts. Then she sickened with a burning 
fever. Her little frame was racked by the most severe pain, and 



RECOLLECTIONS OF MY HOME. 307 

after extreme suffering for five days and nights, her spirit ascended 
to the God who gave it. 

It is a sad thing when death enters our homes, and removes from 
them forever those whom we dearly love. It is a grievous trial to 
mark the fixed repose of the cherished form, so lately full of life and 
health, to know that the voice which was as music in our ears is 
hushed, and that the closed eye will know us no more on earth. 

Our tears flowed fast, as we bent over the stiffened form of our 
lost darling. But not even the pallid and motionless features, nor 
the marble coldness of the brow, could make us children realize, that 
our little Ruth had gone from us forever. For myself, I can truly 
say, that it was not until her remains had been laid beneath the sod, 
that I awakened to the conviction, that she had passed away from 
us, to return no more. 

Our little Ruth died when I was eleven years old, and the reflec* 
tions and feelings to which this bereavement gave rise, seemed to 
render me some years older than I had been before. For months 
after the death of our babe I could not play as usual upon the green, 
or talk merrily with my brothers and sisters. Robert felt deeply the 
loss of his little pet, but he had been much less with her than myself, 
and his spirits seemed sooner to resume their usual buoyancy. 
Henry and Elsy talked much about her, and often wished that she 
could be with them again. And then they would check themselves, 
saying, that she had gone to live in a more beautiful world than this, 
where God and the angels would always take care of her, and 
love her. 

My father grieved for the loss of his youngest born. He missed 
her bright smile, her gentle voice, and the ready welcome with which 
she greeted him, when he returned from his daily business. But he 
mourned as a Christian father, who trusts that his child is safe in 
heaven. 

My mother's sorrow was quiet and unobtrusive. Young as I was, 
it touched my heart, and excited my sympathy, in no common 
degree. I have sat and watched her, as she has been engaged with 
her needle, and seen tear after tear fall upon her work. I have 
noticed her choked voice, as she attempted to reply to one of Elsy's 
questions, concerning sister Ruth, and I have seen her sad counte- 
nance as she has looked upon some plaything, or other memento of 
the dear departed. Still she sorrowed not, as one without hope. 



308 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY HOME. 

Years afterwards, she told me that there were times, even during 
the first year after her bereavement, when she could fervently thank 
God. that he had removed her darling from the temptation and sin 
of this world, to a home of holiness and happiness. 

About two years after the death of our little sister, Robert was 
very earnest in attempting to gain the consent of our parents to what 
had long been his favorite object. From early childhood, he had 
evinced a strong disposition to become a sailor, but my father had 
till now considered it but as a boyish whim. He found, however, 
that Robert had thought much more upon the subject than he had 
supposed, and that he had a strong disinclination to any other mode 
of life. At first he objected decidedly, and Robert came to me for 
comfort under his disappointment. I must confess that it was some- 
thing of a disappointment to me, likewise, for he had talked so much 
of the pleasure and honor of a sailor's life, that I had insensibly 
imbibed many of his prejudices in its favor. After considering the 
subject for a few days, my father surprised us both, by saying that 
if Robert could obtain our mother's consent, and adhered for another 
year to his present choice of a business for life, he would at the end 
of that time, no longer object to his becoming a sailor. The fact 
was, my father very well knew, that it would be hard work to settle 
Robert in any other employment than that which he had chosen. 
He was ardent, enthusiastic, possessed of a strong will, seldom 
yielding his purposes, except from necessity. While he would never, 
I think have commenced a sea-faring life without the consent of his 
parents, he would have been restless and unhappy in any other 
vocation. To become a sailor would still have been the master 
desire of his life, and very likely have impeded his efibrts for success 
in any other pursuit. 

My father's objections to a sailor's life had arisen, not so much 
from its privations and hardships, as from its peculiar exposure to 
temptation. He was himself of a fearless and determined spirit, 
never shrinking from sufi"ering or danger, when they came in the 
path of duty. But he shrank from placing his boy in a situation, 
where he would be surrounded by more than ordinary temptations, 
where, far removed from his watchful eye, he might yield to theii 
infiuence, and his heart become more and more hardened in sin. 

Under existing circumstances, however, he judged it best to 
allow Robert to follow his own inclinations, concerning his future 



RECOLLECTIONS OF MY HOME. 309 

employment, provided he could, as was said before, procure my 
mother's consent, and continued through the succeeding year to 
desire it as ardently as now. 

My mother's consent was hard to obtain. At first she was hardly 
willing to hear the subject mentioned. She even, and I verily believe 
for the first and the last time in her life, called in question the 
wisdom of my father's decision. She wondered that he could have 
favored so wild a scheme. My brother exhausted his eloquence, but 
it seemed to be all in vain. At last, however, my father's calm and 
dispassionate reasonings began apparently to produce some effect. 
She was more willing to consider the subject, and to hear it talked 
over. But it was months after Robert preferred his request, before 
he could extort any thing in the shape of assent to his wishes. 

Robert was now nearly sixteen, a fine manly lad, open and gener- 
ous in the extreme. Henry was a fair-haired, delicate looking boy, 
just entering upon his eleventh year. He was as candid and gener- 
ous as Robert, but much more easily influenced, and more quiet in 
his habits and tastes. He was very fond of books and of working 
in the garden, and he had already began to talk about being a 
farmer, as soon as he should be old enough. 

Our blue eyed Elsy, was a gay, laughing girl of eight years old. 
Robert used to say, she was like the butterfly, now here, now there, 
never remaining long quiet in one place. And mother sometimes 
expressed a fear, that her volatile spirits, and eagerness for pleasure, 
would prevent her from becoming steady and useful. She was 
warm-hearted and obliging, but thoughtless and quick-tempered, 
although her anger passed away, almost as soon as it was excited. 

But different as we might be in many things, we all agreed in one ; 
that of loving each other fervently. It is a strong and sacred tie 
that binds together brother and sister, and our parents had always 
been exceedingly watchful, lest any thing should happen to weaken 
it. Separation from each other though but for a few days, was a 
great trial to us, even in early childhood. And after our sweet little 
Ruth had passed forever from our midst, we clung to each other 
more closely than before. 

Now that Robert had realized the fulfilment of his wishes, in 
obtaining our parents' consent to his commencing a sailor's life, it 
seemed to me a much less sanguine plan than before. I thought 
more of the loss of his society, and of his privations and peril, and 



310 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY HOME. 



less of the bright prospects, which he had so often spread out before 
me. I was gloomy and dispirited, when I thought of his departure, 
and once or twice I tried to dissuade him from his purpose. I might, 
however, as well have talked to the winds, as to any effect my 
remonstrances produced. So I relinquished efforts, which 1 knew 
must be in vain, and comforted myself with the reflection, that it 
would be some months yet, before he would leave us. He had com- 
menced the study of navigation, and worked at it in good earnest. 
He also proposed becoming my teacher in this science, but after 
a few attempts to comprehend his first lessons, I gave up discouraged. 
I once saw Elsy, turning over the leaves of the volume, from which 
he studied, and as she closed her survey, she exclaimed; " What a 
big book, and not a bit of sense in it !" 

M}^ father was much pleased at Robert's progress in the study of 
navigation. He commended him for his application and industry, 
and said on one occasion that he had accomplished much more than 
he had expected. Robert's eye glistened at this praise from a 
father, whom he dearly loved, and highly respected, and after that, 
he applied himself to study more closely than before. 

The time, which was to decide the durability of Robert's resolu- 
tion to choose a sailor's life, had nearly passed, and his purpose 
remained unchanged. The spring was fast hastening on, and its 
approach was to be the signal for preparing him for his first voyage. 

It was a sad preparation. My mother and myself were employed 
three or four weeks, in fitting him out, but we could neither of us 
talk over our work, as cheerfully as usual. My father procured him 
what was then considered a good voj^age. The vessel was to sail on 
the first of May, and summer, and autumn, and winter, were all to 
pass away, before its return. 

We took leave of our wanderer with sorrowing hearts, and our 
home was far less joyful because of his absence. 



" The same fond mother bent at nigh* 
O'er each fair sleeper's brow ; 

She had each folded flower in sight — 
Where are those dreamers now." 



THE JOURNEY. 211 



THE PROPOSED JOURNEY. 



My young readers may have got quite weary in looking for the 
Journey, but I hope they will excuse the delay, and now renew their 
acquaintance with little Maria Burton. Two days of travel at a 
very moderate pace brought them to the end of their journey. Ten 
days were very pleasantly spent in visiting. Maria formed many 
childish friendships, and found much to enjoy — most especially did 
she enjoy her father's society, and better and better still did she love 
him, as she every night at twilight nestled in his lap for a while, and 
told him of all the joys and trials of the day. But we will pass on 
to their return home. It was a delightful morning when they turned 
their faces towards that dearest spot on earth. The old red horse, 
with ears erect, and cheerful step, seemed animated by pleasant 
anticipations. Maria felt so blithe and gay, that she was in full sym- 
pathy with the birds and squirrels that were enjoying the morning 
with her, and Mr. Burton's countenance was beaming with gratitude 
while he quietly sung a hymn of love and praise to God. 

Mr. Northam did not return with them, but Maria often thought 
of him on the way. The very pleasure which she now felt, reminded 
her of him, and with that pleasure, she felt a sort of regret that he 
WL!S not with them, that she might teach herself to like him, and give up 
some of her comforts for his sake. She thought she was now quite 
willing he should ride with them, and yet she was glad he did not 
choose to return. Her feelings perplexed her, and she finally said, 
" Father, is it wicked for me to be glad your friend did not come 
back with us ?" 

'' I cannot tell you," answered her father, " unless 1 know what is 
the cause of your joy. If it arises from benevolence it is not 
wicked, but if from selfishness, it is." 

" How can I know which it is, father ?" 

" Have you been thinking how happy it is for Mr. N., a man who 
has no home, and no relatives in this country, that he found so many 

20 



312 THE JOTTENEY. 



friends among those people who were lately strangers to hino, and 
has on that account concluded to spend the winter with them?" 

"0 no, sir, I did not know anything about it." 

" Nor about the young gentlemen who were rejoiced to have him 
remain as an instructor for them?" 

"No father." 

" Then I fear your joy has arisen from a selfish motive." 

" I tried to love ]Mr. Northam, and I think I did, but I am glad 
he did not come, and so I think I should be ill-humored again if he 
were to ride with us. Is it not very strange, father, that I do not 
understand my own feelings?" 

" no, my daughter, you are like other children and grown people 
too. ' The heart is deceitful above all things.' " 

"But father, did you say Mr. N. had no home and no friends? I 
thought he told me a story about his own little children." 

" No, dear, he has no family. Perhaps he recalled some part of 
his own childhood, and pictured for you a pleasant scene far away 
across the ocean when he was a child, and his brothers and sisters 
were around him." 

" Oh yes, father, I think it was. How kind in him to tell me that 
story. I hope Mr. N. will come to see you again. Do you think 
he will?" 

" Yes, I shall expect him again." . L. L. H. 



Brilliant talents, graces of person, and a confirmed intrepidity, 
and a continual habit of displaying these advantages, is all that is 
aimed at in the education of girls : the virtues that make a moderate 
fortune and a retired situation comfortable, are never inculcated. 
One would be left to imagine, by the common modes of female edu- 
cation, that life consisted of one universal holiday, and that the only 
contest was, who shall be best enabled to excel in the sports and 
games that were to be celebrated on it. 



A LETTER FROM THE WEST. 313 



A LETTER FROM THE WEST. 



As many of the youthful readers of this volume have never lived 
any where but in cities and towns in the older states, a few remarks 
about the far west may not be uninteresting. 

The state of Wisconsin, perhaps, is one of the richest and the most 
beautifully diversified with woods, rolling prairies, and fine pictur- 
esque scenery not surpassed, if indeed equalled, by any other in the 
Union. 

Sitting, as I do now, in my nicely arranged study, I have a beau- 
tiful stream flowing in front of my residence, where the splendid 
white water lily is now in full bloom upon the waters, oiFering a fine 
contrast of snow-like purity among the flowers with which the sides 
of the river are ornamented. Beyond this, in the same direction, 
are two log houses, and although rough in exterior, within they abound 
with comforts of almost every description. 

The vast prairies of which, doubtless, you have heard and read, 
may be called extensive pastures; some of them without a tree to be 
seen; others ornamented with single fine oaks, or frequently stand- 
ing together in clusters, adding greatly to the beauty of the scenery. 
Sometimes these large prairies are flat and level, and soft as a car- 
pet ; at other times they are rolling or uneven, with 'ascents and 
declivities like the waves of the ocean, and then they appear truly 
charming to the eye. But the most imposing feature about them to the 
young botanist is the constant succession of such a diversity of bril- 
liant flowers, which, were they transplanted to our eastern gardens, 
Avould be considered great rarities. Here we have the widow's tear, 
the Avild sweet william, and wild sweet pea, with a variety of dwarf 
rose bushes which produce their flowers from the deep blushing red, 
to the pale white, with all the intermediate shades of complexion ; 
also the wild sun flower and the Indian mocassin, Avhich is a most 
curious production, and nearly resembles the article of that name. 

But my dear young friends, we miss the many delightful birds we 



314 A LETTER FROM THE WEST. 

used to hear sing eastward, such as the bobolink, the robin and others, 
although many "svhich we have here are of very beautiful plumage. 
Here you will see great numbers of the quail, the same sort of bird, 
you well remember, with which God supplied the camp of the people 
of Israel in the wilderness. They are a pretty creature, and often run 
before us in our path like a tame half grown chicken. The moaning 
dove is very general, filling the air with its melancholy ditty, remind- 
ing me of one or two which I once reared and kept about the 
house, when they became very interesting creatures ; they would perch 
upon the hands of the children, and actually began housekeeping, 
for the lady dove laid us several eggs, but she had not patience to 
hatch them, and eventually they flew away to the woods and we saw 
them no more. The Indian bird or prairie hen, as it is often called, 
is a fine large fowl, which flies up before you with a loud fluttering 
noise, and wdien it is upon the ground raises its head like a young 
turkey. Their young ones resemble chickens, and many have been 
the attempts to tame them, but these attempts have never succeeded. 
The note of the whippoorwill we frequently hear in the evenings, 
but I think it has a dull, monotonous tone, and no beauty whatever 
about its plumage. It seems something of the hawk species, but 
like the cuckoo in the mother country, there appears to be a great 
deal of mystery about it, and its history is by no means known. 

About ten years ago, there was not, I believe, a framed house, and 
but one or two log houses within a circuit of a dozen miles of where 
I am now sitting. The poor Indian roamed the prairies, hunted the 
deer, and drew the fish from the streams. They have now disap- 
peared, but have left behind them traces of their former existence, 
and we have their mounds, or sepulchres of their dead in which we 
find the bones of their ancestors waiting the morn of the final 
resurrection. 

And now, my dear young friends, we in this distant part of 
the country, are by no means favored with religious advantages, 
which you enjoy. The nearest built church is at a distance of eight 
miles, although we have school houses in every district, where we 
have occasional preaching. I have preached in many of them, and 
often find it difficult to satisfy the numerous applications I receive to 
hold meetings of a religious character. 

Sabbath schools arc established all around us, and they are truly, 
I may say, the most important institution we have, and all who go 



A LETTER FROM THE WEST. 315 

westward should make up their minds to lend a helping hand in this 
important matter of training the young. The youth here are by no 
means slow to learn, and their attendance at the Sabbath school 
would be worthy the imitation of our eastward children. I have an 
interesting class at which young men and women, and even old per- 
sons, feel it a privilege to attend, and manifest great interest in the 
study of the scriptures. 

A very affecting and solemn incident took place at a station where 
I was holding a meeting a few weeks since. Two youths were play- 
ing with a scythe, when one of them, while they were thus amusing 
themselves, was so cut across the thigh that he died in less than fif- 
teen mmutes, even before he could reach his home. His parents 
were Roman Catholics, and having no priest here, the father or some 
other person present, read a few Latin sentences, and the poor youth, 
about eight or nine years of age, was buried in the ground. How 
thankful, my dear children, ought you to be that you have been 
taught, and trained under a purer and a more consoling system. 

We got up a celebration here, in these ends of the earth, on the 
Fourth of July, and had quite a turn-out among the Sabbath schools, 
when the scholars were treated with cake and other provisions. 
Several suitable addresses were delivered and hymns sung in celebra- 
tion of the day. A beautiful striped flag was hoisted upon one of the 
oak trees of the grove where we were assembled, and when all was 
ended, we made a cavalcade of nine waggons, drove into the village 
in fine style, and then separated to our respective homes. 

The greatest evil with us at present is the use of alcoholic drinks, 
and several very solemn deaths have taken place in the midst of us. 
A few Sabbaths since, while sitting at dinner, a gentleman called 
upon me, requesting me to preach a funeral sermon that afternoon at 
a school house about three miles distant, for a man who was quite 
in the prime of life, when he fell under the temptation, and went 
down into a drunkard's grave. I was exceedingly affected when I 
beheld the young, delicate widow, with the fatherless children, enter 
the house of worship, the eldest perhaps not more than nine years 
of age, and so cleanly and neatly clad, as to excite the strongest 
feelings of interest in the minds of all present. I felt it my duty, 
the next time I preached at this place, to bring forth the subject of 
temperance, and from this and other deaths of the same kind, to 



316 HOW TO AVOID A BAD HUSBAND. 

urge upon the community the necessity and the duty of every one 
to do all in their power to get rid of this great evil. 

We have great hopes of getting the Maine law, as our legislature 
have left it to be decided by a vote of the people. 1 hope all the 
readers of the Mothers' Journal, especially the young, will ever use 
all the influence they can exert, to restrain and stay this great 
destroyer of the peace and comfort of families. 

For the present I now take my leave, and perhaps at some future 
time, if at leisure, you may hear from me again. 

R. S. 



HOW TO AVOID A BAD HUSBAND. 

1. Never marry for wealth. A woman's life consisteth not in the 
things she possesseth. 

2. Never marry a fop, or one who struts about dandy-like, in his 
silk gloves and ruffles, with silvered cane, and rings on his fingers. 
Beware ! there is a trap. 

3. Never marry a niggard, a close-fisted, mean, sordid wretch, 
who saves every penny, or spends it grudgingly. Take care lest 
he stint you to death. 

4. Never marry a stranger, or one whose character is not known 
or tested. Some females jump right into the fire with their eyes 
wide open. 

5. Never marry a mope or a drone, one who drawls and draggles 
through life, one foot after another, and lets things take their own 
course. 

6. Never marry a man who treats his mother or sister unkindly or 
imlifferently. Such treatment is a sure indication of a mean and 
wicked man. 

7. Never, on any account, marry a gambler, a profane person, 
or one who in the least speaks lightly of God or religion. Such a man 
can never make a good husband. 

8. Never marry a sloven, a man who is negligent of his person 
or his dress, and is filthy in his habits. The external appearance is 
an index to the heart. 



THE JEWEL NOT LOST. 317 

9. Shun a rake as a snake, a viper, a very demon. 

10. Finally, never marry a man who is addicted to the use of 
ardent spirits. Depend upon it, you are better off alone, than you 
would be were you tied to a man whose breath is polluted, and whose 
vitals are being gnawed out by alcohol. 

In the choice of a wife, take the obedient daughter of a good 
mother. 



THE JEWEL NOT LOST. 



SELECTED BY A BEREAVED MOTHER. 



The black waters of the river of death were rolling sluggishly 
onward. There approached one whose features bore traces of anxi- 
ety and sorrow ; and with a bowed form she gazed into the turbulent 
stream, as though she would fain descry something far down in its 
fathomless depths. 

A being of benign and celestial aspect appeared at her side and 
said : " What seekest thou, sorrowful one ?" " Alas !" she answered, 
" I wore a sparkling jewel upon my bosom. It was not a paltry 
bauble, but a monarch's gift, and invaluable. The wealth of India 
can yield none to match it. In an evil hour it dropped from its 
resting-place into this dark river. For a moment I saw it float near 
the brink, and stretched out my hand to regain it, but it was beyond 
my reach, and it sank down till I saw it no more. It is gone — lost 
forever !" And in deep gloom she turned to depart. 

" Stay, mourner ! Grieve not, but look again into the waters !" 
She looked, and a cry of joy burst from her lips : ^' It is there ! I 
see it floating on the dismal wave. Oh ! shall it not be mine once 
more ?" The answer came : " Nay, but thou art deceived. What 
thou seest is but the semblance of what was thine. Yet, turn thy 
eyes upward, and rejoice !" She obeyed, and beheld a star gleaming 
from a bright spot of azure in the murky sky, whose rays gave even 
the waves of that gloomy river a tinge of brightness, and whose re- 
flection there she had mistaken for her own lost gem. 

Then came a tender and musical voice, as the beautiful appearance 
vanished: "Mourner, these restless billows, though fearful and dark 



318 THE JEWEL NOT LOST. 



to thee roll up the gate of heaven. Ever faithful to their trust, 
they bore the jewel that was lent, not given to thee, to its rightful 
owner, the Monarch of Heaven ; and transferred to his care, it will 
shine forever in its glorious resting-place." 

The mourner departed with a countenance thoughtful, yet cheer- 
ful ; her gaze no longer bent upon earth, or the river of death, but 
meekly and trustingly raised to heaven. 

And that star, beaming into her spirit with rays of hope and glad- 
ness, was ever after 

A VOICE FROM HEAYEN. 

I shine in the light of God ! 

His image stamps my brow ! 
Through the shadow of death my feet have trod, 

I reign in glory now ! 
No breaking heart is here — 

No keen and thrilling pain — 
No wasted cheek where the frequent tear 

Hath rolled and left its stain. 

I have found the joys of heaven, 

I am one of an angel band, 
To my head a crown of gold is given, 

And a harp is in my hand : 
I have learned the song they sing, 

Whom Jesus has set free, 
And the glorious walls of heaven still ring 

With the newborn melody. 

No sin — no grief — no pain — 

Safe in my happy home — 
My fears all fled — my grief all slain, 

My hour of triumph come ! 
Oh ! friends of my mortal years, 

The trusted and the true I 
Ye are walking still through the vale of tears. 

But I wait to welcome you ! 



Do I forget? Oh, no ! 

For memory's gulden chain 
Still binds my heart to hearts below, 

Till they meet in joy again. 



THE EARLY DEAD 319 



Each link is strong and bright, 

And life's electric flame 
Flows freely down like a river of light, 
To the world from which I came. 

Do you mourn when another star 

Shines out from the glittering sky ? 
Do you weep when the raging voice of war, 

Or the storm of conflict die ? 
Then why should your tears run down, 

And your heart be sorely riven, 
For another gem in the Saviour's crown, 

And another soul in heaven ? 



4 • • » > 



THE EARLY DEAD. 

(from the GERMAN OF HERDER.) 

A l:ttle maiden went out early one morning, to gather the fairest 
of her roses for a garland. She found them still in bud, or only 
half unclosed — the perfumed chalices of the morning dew. " I will 
not break them yet," murmured she, "but wait till the sun has 
opened them ; then will they be more beautiful, and more fragrant." 

At mid-day she went out again. The sweetest of her roses had 
been eaten by the worms, bowed by the sun's rays, blasted and 
withered. 

Then the little maid wept over her folly, and the next morning 
gathered her garlands early. 

So God calls early to Himself the dearest of his little ones, before 
the sun of this world scorches them, or the worm of passion feeds on 
them. The Paradise of children lies near the 'Excellent Glory,' 
and the most pious man, if his soul has been stained, cannot attain 
to it. 

H. P. R. 



320 A BEAUTIFUL CUSTOM. 



A BEAUTIFUL CUSTOM. 



In a recent visit to the home of the aged parents of a family 
now widely scattered, I fell in with a letter sent by a son to his 
mother on his hirth-day. It has been the custom of that son, for 
many years, to send such a letter to the venerated parent on the 
return of his natal-day ; and it occurred to me that it was a beauti- 
ful custom. There is nothing particularly remarkable in this letter, 
but in the hope of leading some of your readers to adopt the custom, 
I transcribe it for the '' Garner." H. C. F. 



My dear Mother : 

I know that you will be looking out for a letter from me 
about these times, and I am not going to disappoint you. Some 
people almost never observe the return of their birth-day, but let it 
pass unnoticed and forgotten, like any other day. I confess I can 
never do this. 

The day usually comes to me like a remembrance of the past. The 
goodness of the Lord in giving me life and being ; in preserving me 
in ray tender infancy and boyhood, and all along up to manhood, I 
can never, on such a day, fail to call to mind. Then, also, my obli- 
gations to my kind parents, especially my mother, who brought me 
into being, and not without much suffering and anxious concern ; 
these 1 can not, I would not forget. 

All this, and much more, passed through my mind this morning 
and last evening. It may be a pleasure to you to know it. Of 
course it is out of my power to make suitable returns for this self- 
sacrifice on your part ; but I have often thought that the greatest 
reward which a parent could ask of a child is a grateful remembrance, 
and a life of virtue, honor and usefulness. 

I hope you are not wholly denied this in the case of your children; 
and especially do I hope that I may so live as to cause you to thank 
God upon every remembrance of me. 



HOME IS WHERE THERE*S ONE TO LOVE US. 321 

A child ought to seek the ways of wisdom and well-doing, if from 
no other motive, but to render happy his parents. 

But I will not begin to moralize. I only took my pen to assure 
you that you are not forgotten. 

" Pm living far from thee, mother, 

Far from my happy home ; 
I've left the land that gave me birth, 

In other lands to roam ; 
And time, since then, has rolled its years, 
,. And marked them on my brow ; 

Yet I have often thought of thee — 

I'm thinking of thee now/' 

Yes ! and I shall not cease to do this as long as I think of any- 
thing. Surely that is a hard and corrupt heart, which wears not 
fresh upon it the image of her who has been the means of introduc- 
ing him into the world. 

Clara and the sweet babes would join in kind regards for the 
"Old Folks at Home," and the entire circle of loved ones there. 

May your declining years be peaceful, and your final resting-place 
the bosom of God ! As ever, 

Your affectionate Son. 



HOME IS WHERE THERE'S ONE TO LOVE US 

Home's not merely four square walls 

Though with pictures hung and gilded; 
Home is where affection calls, 

Filled with shrines the hearth hath builded I 
Home ! — go watch the faithful dove 

Sailing 'neath the heaven above us — 
Home is where there's one to love ! 

Home is where there s one to love us ! 

Home's not merely roof and room, 

It needs something to endear it ; 
Home is where the heart can bloom, 

Where there's some kind lip to cheer it I 
What is home with none to meet ? 

None to welcome, none to greet us ? 
Home is sweet, and only sweet, 

Where there's one we love to meet us ! 

21 



322 EARLY IMPRESSIONS. 



EARLY IMPRESSIONS. 



BY REV. B. BEDELL. 



Mothers how do you spend your Sabbaths ? Is each moment 
of that holy day so properly employed, that your influence on 
your children will be salutary, and such as you will be pleased to 
have them cherish in after years, when they leave the parental roof, 
to dwell among strangers, where they will be exposed to temptation 
from the thoughtless Sabbath breaker ? 

When I was a small boy, like other children my conscience was 
tender, and I was easily wrought upon ; but with childish thought- 
lessness I would break over the restraints of conscience and give 
myself real cause for grief, and then come to the conclusion that I 
loved play too well ever to be good. 

One Sabbath morning, I remember, the sun shone bright and 
every thing around was lovely and inviting. I longed to be out in 
the fields at my sports ; but I well knew that mother would not per- 
mit me to play on the Sabbath if she saw me. So I went up stairs 
to my sleeping apartment, where were my toys and playthings, and 
concluded to have my play there. I commenced arranging my toys, 
and after fixing them to my satisfaction, I took a stag's horn, with 
wide spreading branches, and placed it on the floor in such a way 
that it stood on the tip of its branches, and served me for a horse- 
On this I seated myself in high glee, and was just settling myself 
down for a fine holyday, when I heard my mother's voice in the room 
below me, and I knew by the intonations that she was reading the 
Bible, though I could not distinguish a word. Conscience smote me, 
but I tried to amuse myself at my play. I tried some new arrange- 
ment of my toys, yet so long as I could hear the hum of mother's 
voice, as she sat reading the Bible, I could not relish my sport. 

I tried to drown her voice. It was merely a low murmur, but 
although I moved my feet on the floor, and tried in a number of 
ways to make sufficient noise to prevent me from hearing her, yvt 
that low sound would reach my car. At length that murmuring 
sound became intolerable. I could endure it no longer. I pushod 
aside my playthings in disgust, and loft the room. I walked softly 



THE WORK OF FEMALE MISSIONARIES. 323 

down Stairs and passed out of doors, though the room where mother 
sat. I remember well how she looked to me, at that moment. I 
hardly dared look at her, but just caught a glimpse of her as I 
passed. The fire, the chair, the Bible, are all fresh in my memory. 
I looked upon my mother as the purest being on earth, and that 
very purity troubled me. I had a vague wish to be as good and 
pure as my mother. I went out of doors and walked in the yard 
and felt relieved, but the impression never fully left me. I never 
could again attempt to play on the Sabbath. 

It made way for those convictions which disturbed me at times, 
night and day, till in my tenth year, as I trust, the Spirit formed my 
heart anew. And now, if I am in any degree useful as a laborer in 
my Master's vineyard, it is attributable in part, at least, through 
the divine blessing, to that circumstance. If mother had been con- 
versing, or even reading to herself, I might by spending that day in 
sport have laid the foundation for Sabbath breaking, the effect of 
which might have followed me through life, and rendered me an object 
of dread to all pious parents who wished their children to keep that 
holy day. 

Mothers think of this. Remember that every act of yours, how- 
ever trivial it may appear, has its influence for good or ill ; and if 
you would be instrumental in the salvation of your little ones, let the 
burden of your prayers ever be that you may be directed by uner- 
ring wisdom, in order that every act may tell for good on the im- 
mortal souls committed to your trust. 



THE WORK OF EEMALE MISSIONARIES-A CONVERTED 
HEATHEN MOTHER. 

EXTRACT OF A LETTER FROM MRS. MASON TO THE EDITOR, DATED MONMOGAN, 

APRIL, 1853. 

When husband's iH health obliged us to leave Newton, I had no 
longer access to the Pwos ; but tried to do what I could for the 
Burmese and East Indians. I do not speak Burmese, and of course 
had to speak through an interpreter. In this way, which is how- 



324 THE WORK OF FEMALE MISSIOXARIES. 

ever but a lame way, I conversed in one year with near two hundred 
heathen women, who never, but one of them, visit the teachers, or 
attend Christian worship. And among all these but one could read ; 
sunk in ignorance, and degradation, going blindly down to death. 
These women I visited at their own houses, some of them repeatedly, 
and some of our interviews were deeply interesting ; and I trust not 
wholly unprofitable. 

Since my husband's removal to Tavoy, he has been an almost 
constant sufferer, in consequence of which I have not so much time 
at home, for direct mission work. A man's duties here in Burmah 
must be nearly all of a public character ; but it is different with a 
woman. Her efforts for the heathen must be blended with the care 
of her husband, and the instruction of her children. We have no 
schools to aid us in teaching our little ones, but every bit of their 
instruction must be drawn from their mothers' lips. 

When my husband has writing to do, which I can do as well, it 
seems best for the cause that my time should go, rather than his ; 
and I have sometimes copied forty quarto pages in a few weeks. 

Last November his health was so good, that I was able to leave 
home, and made a tour of a fortnight into the jungle, with the inten- 
tion of establishing a Pwo school in this vicinity. I visited six ham- 
lets, and enjoyed the privilege of conversing with some seventy 
heathen women ; and as many men who came to me for conversation, 
besides many children. We had some very solemn seasons, but I 
could not say that one of them appeared to be seriously inquiring. 
There was one woman, however, who was different from most pagans. 
Our way lay among the mountains, and was very tedious, so that it 
was necessary to walk most of the time ; and when I went up the 
ladder of this woman's house, she immediately went and brought 
water, and insisted upon washing the blood off my feet with her own 
hands. Many will neither bring water, nor let us rest under the 
sliadow of their houses ; but generally during this tour, they received 
us kindly. 

I enjoyed a most delightful season on the way with the sisters of 
Mata ; and spent some time in examining with them the 14th of 
John. Their answers showed that their teachers had not labored in 
vain. They were very happy to hear the Scriptures explained, and 
some portions of the chapter seemed to give them great comfort. 

There was one woman he^e particularly interesting. She had 



IMPORTANT DISCIPLINE. 325 



been for many years the pythoness (witch or priestess) of her family ; 
and was converted by me-ans of a daughter. Oh, if you could but 
have seen this woman when she came inquiring after her unconverted 
child ! We had scarcely time to sit down, on returning from our 
tour in the mountains, when we were surrounded with inquiring lips 
on every side. " Did you see my son ?" asks a mother, clasping our 
feet. 

'^Did you see my mother T' — "my sister?" — "my aunt?" ques- 
tioned a half dozen voices in succession. I immediately recognized, 
among the foremost, the old priestess. 

" Did you see my daughter ?" she inquired in a tremulous voice, 
laying her hand upon my arm. 

"Yes." 

" Did she say she would believe ?" 

Oh, how I longed to answer yes, but I could not ; and when I was 
obliged to answer that her daughter was still impenitent, the con- 
verted heathen bowed her white hairs and wept. 



impoiita:nt discipline. 

" Mother, I have been insulted this morning, positively insulted. 
These are the wise laws of Massachusetts, I suppose ! I wish father 
had never thought of moving into this State." 

Mrs. Weston looked up from her sewing, and saw that Henry's 
face was flushed with anger and excitement, and she drew a chair 
beside her, and asked him to sit down and give her an account of 
whatever had happened to him. 

" Well, mother," said he, " I just stopped to draw in my kite, 
and put it away, after the school bell rung, and behold ! when I got 
to the school, the door was locked against me, and so I had to sneak 
off, as though I had been doing some wicked deed, and the scholars 
looked out of the window and laughed at me. What a shame, 
mother, that the town, or committee, or whoever it is, should take 
upon themselves to punish me in this way, just because I lose five 
minutes of my own time ! I thought we lived in a free country 1" 



326 IMPORTANT DISCIPLINE. 



" We do, my son, and wholesome laws are the basis and support 
of our freedom." 

" But such a law as this for a school ! Can you, mother, see any 
reason or propriety in it ?" 

"Yes, a good deal of both. In a large town, many families would 
be very remiss in sending their children punctually, if not forced to 
do it in this way, and the authorities have a right to secure good 
order in the opening of the school, and also to see that the pupils, 
for whom the public funds are expended, get the greatest benefit 
from them. Free schools are worth something, and parents and 
children must be made to realize it. But, the greatest benefit of 
this regulation, and one which you, Henry, especially need, is that 
of acquiring in early life a habit of punctuality. If you go through 
the whole course of study in these schools, as your father intends to 
have you, I hope you will learn the value of this habit, and get the 
practice of it, as your cousin James did, who has now entered a 
store in New York." 

'' Was cousin James ever locked out, mother ?" 

" Yes, when he first entered the school, and he felt very impatient 
of such restraint ; but as he grew o'lder, and saw the propriety of the 
rules, he began to love punctuality. When he was promoted to the 
High School, he found this habit was considered of more importance 
than in the lower departments ; punctuality was even reported to 
the examining committee, at the close of each term. James was not 
remarkable for scholarship at that time, but his ambition became 
aroused with regard to punctuality, and he thought, ' I will excel 
in one thing at least.' He began to rise early, to do all his work 
and errands in season ; and then his mother must, to conform to his 
early and prompt habits, by having all things ready for him to do at 
an early hour ; this she cheerfully did, for the school was the great 
business of the boy, and all other duties must yield to that. 

" Term after term passed, and James was reported as never absent, 
never tardy. It was impossible for him to take so deep an interest 
in the order of the school, without becoming interested in his studies 
He began to think, ' I excel in one thing, I may in others. I will 
not only be punctual, but studious ;' and this resolution he carried 
into effect, as he did the other. He became a very respectable 
scholar, and secured the warmest esteem of his teacher and scliool- 
mates." L. L. H. 



VANITY OF EARTHLY GLORY. 327 



VANITY OF EARTHLY GLORY. 

CRO^YNS of royalty have never proved a shield against the shafts 
of hatred and envy, or the retributions of just vengeance. Au 
elevated position in society involves the most imminent danger ; as 
it exposes the whole character to public gaze and criticism. Virtue 
appears there doubly beautiful ; but so much the more excites the 
bitterest malice of those who hate her purity, and dread her rebuke. 
Vice can dwell in a corner, or creep through by-paths unmolested ; 
but if by any means her form is elevated to a place of power — how 
hideous she becomes, and how loud the invectives which are raised 
against her ! Yet offices of distinction, and stations of public trust 
must be filled, and their various duties performed ; and it is but 
right that those who occupy and discharge them, should be respected 
and honored — honored, because of the weighty responsibilities im- 
posed on them, and the accumulated amount of blessings which will 
result from the faitliful performance of those duties. 

But who covets their corroding cares, with all the honor which a 
capricious public ever bestowed on a mortal ? 

Personal ease and domestic comfort always must be, in a great 
measure, sacrificed to any public service, and no motives but a tower- 
ing ambition, or a strong sense of duty and desire to do good to com- 
munities or nations, will lead to the surrender. How unsatisfying 
and vain the one ! — how honored the course, and how full the com- 
pensation of the other ! "I now feel," said 'Mary queen of Scots,' 
after a few brief periods of supremacy, and continued strife for 
power, when on her way to execution — " I now feel that all this 
world is vanity." 

Mary Stuart was born the rightful heir to the throne of Scotland 
in 1542, four years previous to the death of Martin Luther. She 
lived during those years of political strife and religious commotion 
which succeeded the Reformation. Her unusual powers of mind, 
her learning and accomplishments, with her rank, might have ren- 
dered her a great blessing to her country — a messenger of peace in 
those troublous times — the admiration of the world ! 

But the unwise, mistaken ambition of herself and friends defeated 



328 VANITY OF EARTHLY GLORY. 

the success of their plans ; and her life ended ignobly in the land 
where she had sought to reign. For about thirty years she buffeted 
the waves on the stormy sea of political strife. We see her, for a 
few months, the happy wife of the king of France — then as a young, 
royal widow, disappointed by a rival claimant to her husband's 
vacated throne, seeking stealthy admission to her native Scotland, 
to assert her right to its crown ; but, by her long absence and 
education in France, estranged from her subjects, almost without a 
recognizing friend — a bigoted adherent to a faith which had just been 
overthrown by the popular voice, she met emergencies for which 
she was illy prepared. However, with a zeal worthy the purer faith 
with which she contested, she endeavored to reinstate the rites and 
forms which had been expunged. But with the principles of truth 
and religious freedom she waged unequal warfare. She could not 
withstand the appeals and arguments of John Knox, though her 
youth, beauty, and affability, won her many friends. Taking 
advantage of every circumstance to secure popular favor, and em- 
ploying every stratagem to further her own designs, she maintained 
for a few years her position as queen ; but, after a series of impro- 
prieties and abuses of public sentiment, she was made a prisoner, 
and compelled to abdicate the throne, in favor of her own son, then 
one year old. After another ineffectual struggle for the queendom^ 
she fled to England, to obtain if possible the favor of that court. 
There she was suspected of rivalry by Queen Elizabeth, and was 
detained as a captive for nineteen years — watched with jealous eyes 
— at last accused of being accessory to a conspiracy against Eliza- 
beth, condemned, and beheaded in 1587. 

Her ambition and pride of spirit, though so often foiled, were not 
in the least subdued, as is shown by her words when summoned to 
answer to the accusation. She says, " I came into the kingdom an 
independent sovereign, to implore the queen's assistance — not to sub- 
ject myself to her authority ; nor is my spirit so broken by past 
misfortunes, or so intimidated by present dangers, as to stoop to 
anything unbecoming a crowned head, or that will disgrace the 
ancestors from whom I have descended, or the son to whom I leave 
my throne." 

Her only son, James I. of England, it seems, was reared without 
the tender guiding influence of the mother, and with little respect 
or veneration for her. Yet, in her last moments, the feelings of the 



VANITY OF EARTHLY GLORY. 329 



mother triumphed : — it is the brightest halo of glory that encircles 
her history ! To Sir Andrew Melville, the master of her house- 
hold, when taking her leave of him, on entering the hall where she 
was executed, she said, among other words, with tears, " Tell my 
son, I thought of him in my last moments, and that I said I never 
yielded by word or deed to aught that might lead to his prejudice ; 
tell him to remember his unfortunate parent ; and may he be a 
thousand times more prosperous and happy than she ever was." 

She possessed noble powers of mind — highly cultivated — gifted 
with genius and song, with a high taste for literary pursuits; and 
with these, well balanced and rightly directed, what an influence she 
might have exerted on that son, who was destined to rule over Scot- 
land and England for more than fifty years ! " Mary, queen of 
Scots," though dead, might have lived, and reigned, and been 
honored through that son, when all the fitful fame which she won 
during her career had gone out in darkness ! 

Mrs. M. G. Clarke. 



" Yes, all that live must die. 
Here, behold an end of all thy greatness ! 
Though thy name be high emblazoned 
On the scroll of fame, though beauty deck 
Thy brow, and wealth thy coffers fill — though science 
Enrich thy mind, and heavenly themes inspire ; 
Yet the grave is opening, and its dismal 
Gloom is gathering blackness — grim spirits 
Urge thy passage to its drear abode, 
And hungry reptiles wait thy coming. 
Oh, who can lift the veil, that hides the past 
And future from our view, and think on man 
As merely mortal — the creature of a day ! 
* * The soul can never die." 



330 RECOLLECTIONS OF HOME. 



RECOLLECTIONS OF HOME. 

COUSIN MERCY'S VISIT. 

Cousin Mercy ! How well I remember her ! She was one of 
those cheerful, bright, good-humored persons, who seem to carry 
happiness with them wherever they go. She came to visit us, just 
after Robert had left home for sea, and her visit helped to fill the 
vacancy which his absence had made in our hearts. We were all 
acquainted with her at once ; for her countenance wore a cordial 
warm-hearted expression, the influence of which it was scarcely 
possible to resist. And but a short time elapsed after her arrival, 
before a strong friendship seemed to have sprung up between her 
and each of the members of our little family. My father and mother 
appeared to regard her with almost paternal affection, and Henry 
and Elsy were never happier than when with her. Even Hepsy, 
whom she often helped to make pickles, preserve fruit, and "■ get up" 
a variety of nice things, seemed quite animated by her presence. 
She used to say it did her good to see Miss Mercy's bright face, and 
to hear her cheerful voice. As for me, I learned to love her dearly, 
and we were almost inseparable companions ; and she returned our 
love with all the warm and cordial affection of an ardent and suscep- 
tible nature. She was a rich blessing to our family throughout the 
period of her visit. 

She was very benevolent, and became much interested in the poor 
people of our neighborhood. A little lame boy, who with his widowed 
mother lived only a short distance from our house, was an object of 
her especial interest. She used to gather flowers for him almost 
every morning, and it was seldom that she failed to visit him, at 
least once in every day. I have often seen her hunting over our 
juvenile books, to find something which she thought would interest 
little James ; and before she left our house, she had taught him to 
read. She was a most patient and hopeful teacher, and he a most 
willing and docile scholar. How pleased the little fellow looked, 
when, as he said, he could read for himself. I remember, as if it 
were only yesterday that I had seen it, the lighting up of a happy 



KECOLLECTIONS OF HOME. 331 

expression in his pale thin face, as he told me that he could now 
read a whole chapter in the Testament, without spelling a word ! 
And then, what a reader he became. He seemed almost to devour 
every book that was brought within his reach. Poor child, he could 
do little else but read, and cousin Mercy had opened to him a rich and 
exhaustless source of enjoyment. She gave him much religious 
instruction, likewise. She told him much about his Father in 
heaven, who never afflicts willingly. She told him of another better 
and holier home, which the blessed Saviour had given his life to 
purchase for all those who love Him. She talked with him about 
that Saviour's sympathy in all his childish troubles, and urged him 
to give his young heart to so precious and unchanging a Friend. 
She was herself a most devoted Christian, having consecrated herself 
to God in the days of her youth, and she earnestly desired that 
this poor helpless boy might obtain that hope which made so peace- 
ful and happy her own life. It was remarkable to witness the eager 
interest with which James listened to the teachings of his faithful 
friend ; and it was impossible not to be touched by the affection 
which he expressed for her, in his simple and childlike language. 
" My pretty flowers make me think of her," he would sometimes say ; 
or "she is bright like the sunshine;" or "I love her better than I 
ever did my poor little lamb." This lamb had been a present from 
my brother Robert, and James had been very much attached to it, 
and he had sorrowed much when it died. 

Once when Mercy and myself had been speaking some time with 
him, he seemed much fatigued, and she proposed singing him to 
sleep. Her soothing voice soon lulled him to rest, and while he was 
sleeping, she left him to do a short errand in the neighborhood. I 
was alone with him when he awoke. He looked around the room, 
and then said, as if disappointed, "Is she not here?" I explained 
the cause of her absence. He said, " I have been dreaming of her. 
Won't the good angels in heaven look like her?" 

It was not long after Mercy's first visit to James, before he gave 
good evidence that he truly loved the Saviour. His mother said it 
was wonderful to see how he had taken to serious things, and that 
he seemed to grow more patient and gentle every day. She said, 
she had always thought him a remarkably good boy, that he seldom 
murmured, even when suffering great pain, and that he always tried 
to save her all the trouble he possibly could. But now he seemed 



332 EFOOLLECTIONS OF HOME. 

SO thankful for everjthiDg, and so afraid of doing wrong, and he 
would rather read in the Testament than in any other book. 

The mother of James was, as I had often heard my parents say, 
a sincere and humble Christian ; but, like many other mother's, she 
did not suppose that her son was likely to be converted to God in 
the days of his childhood. She thought him too young to receive 
much religious teaching, or to become a disciple of the Saviour. 
The event proved her in the wrong ; for certainly her feeble, sickly 
boy became a most devoted follower of the meek and lowly Jesus, 
My mother used to say that his confidence in God, his patience, and 
his humility, and his earnest devotion to obey all the Divine com- 
mands, put to shame many an older Christian. 

And cousin Mercy ! how she delighted to converse with James 
concerning his new and bright prospects. I have seen tears gather 
in her eyes, as seated by his large easy chair she has listened to 
some touching expression of thankfulness to God, for the great 
blessing he had conferred upon him, in giving him a hope beyond 
the grave. He would often in her daily visits repeat to her some 
verses, which were contained in the chapters he had read in the 
morning, saying, " How blessed these verses are, and how grateful 
I ought to be that I am able to read in the Bible." 

Mercy used often to talk with Henry, Elsy, and myself, concern- 
ning those things which related to the salvation of our souls. She 
was an earnest and winning pleader, and her words often impressed 
us with much, though transient seriousness. Even the volatile Elsy 
would listen with grave attention to all that she said upon the sub- 
ject of religion. And Henry, with his thoughtful look and quiet 
manner, gave earnest heed to her words. He had always evinced a 
remarkable partiality for conversation upon religious subjects, and 
he was more disposed to reflection, and to seek the society of per- 
sons older than himself, than is usual for boys of his age. He Avas 
very conscientious, and I believe there were seasons, during cousin 
Mercy's visit, in which my parents both hoped that he had already 
chosen the good part. He did not, however, indulge any such hope 
until several years afterwards, when sorrow had begun to cast its 
dark shadows over his life. 

How much did my dear cousin's devotedness to the service of 
God, as expressed by all her words and actions, condemn the 
alienation of my heart from a Being of such glorious excellence. I 



RECOLLECTIONS OF HOME. 333 

look back with wonder and trembling on the days of my guilty per- 
verseness, and I must ever humbly adore that Divine grace, by which 
alone my stony heart was softened. God is infinitely merciful — 
were it otherwise, I should not now be rejoicing in the light of his 
countenance. 

Cousin Mercy's \asit, which it was intended should only extend 
through three or four months, was finally protracted to nearly a 
year. We could not bear the idea of having her leave us, so every 
letter addressed to her home pleaded for a little longer absence. 
At last, however, her mother wrote that she could spare her no 
longer, and shortly after uncle Thomas came for her, to accompany 
him home. How delighted Mercy was at seeing her father. She 
wept like a child when he first arrived, but soon regained her com- 
posure, although the beaming eye and quivering lip would sometimes 
betray unwonted feeling. We all enjoyed uncle Thomas' visit, and 
soon learned to love him. He was more lively and talkative than 
our own dear father, and he seemed to inspire both our parents with 
new cheerfulness, while with us young folks he was a decided favor- 
ite ; numerous were our rides and walks during his stay, and there 
was only one draw-back to our enjoyment — the fact that not only 
he, but cousin Mercy too, was soon to leave us for their own home. 

The short, short days passed away, and the morning came, which 
had been fixed upon for their departure. Uncle Thomas bade a 
cheerful good-bye, and Mercy tried to follow his example, but I 
could see tears glistening in her eyes as the carriage drove from 
the door. 



There is hardly any bodily blemish which a winning behavior will 
not conceal, or make tolerable; and there is no external grace which 
ill-nature or afiectation will not deform. 



Deep learning will make you acceptable to the learned ; but it is 
only an easy and obliging behavior, and entertaining conversation, 
that will make you agreeable in all company. 



334 there's peace alone on high. 



THERE'S PEACE ALONE ON HIGE 

I've roamed the wide world over, 

I've searched in every clime 
I've been the transient rover 

From pole to equa's line. 
In cot or princely dwelling, 

Where want or mirth abound — 
Where hearts with joy were swelling. 

No peace I ever found. 

I've trod the dance's mazes, 

And sought to find there '^O"^ ; 
I've loved the world's vain praises, — 

But all ! all would cloy. 
A moment's thrill — an instant 

Of seeming happiness ; 
But ! the after moment, 

The end, was bitterness. 

This world has pleasures seeming, 

It's dazzling beauties bright ; 
It's scenes and hopes alluring — 

Ever changing to the sight ; 
But it no comfort yieldeth 

When sorrow's storms arise ; 
It's fondest hope but mocketh, 

And seeming pleasure flies. 

0, then, for pleasure seek not 

Among this earth's vain shows ; 
It's choicest treasures sate not — 

True peace it never knows. 
At dewy morn, or even, 

With mirth or sadness nigh, 
Lift up thy heart to Heaven — 

There's peace alone on High. 

H. J. S. 



THE JOURNEY. 335 



THE JOURNEY. 



As they traveled on, Mr. Burton turned Maria's attention to the 
beautiful works of God. " See that charming little brook," said 
he, *' leaping down from the side of the hill yonder. How cunningly 
it seems to hide itself there among the rocks and bushes, and then 
it peeps out again, and here it hurries away, as if it were playing 
hide and go seek." 

"Yes, yes," cried Maria, "but I'll find it;" and as they rode on, 
" here it is father — now it is skipping over the rocks. It makes me 
think of that song brother sings, ^ Stop ! stop ! pretty water' — but 
the brook did not stop for Harry's boat, and this will not stop for 
me. how it sparkles in the sun, and what a pretty noise it 
makes; don't you think so, father?" 

" A pleasant noise, my dear, rather than a pretty one. Yes, I 
love to hear it. The gentle sounds of nature all around us are 
pleasant to the ear. Let us think of our Heavenly Father, while 
we observe his works. Everything, and every being which we see, 
is obeying the laws which Grod has made for it. The smallest insect 
never disobeys God: should you think it would?" 

"No, father, why should it want to disobey ?" 

" Well, I do not see any reason why it should — it has a pleasant 
home, and everything it needs to make it happy ; but I know some 
little creatures that have much more to enjoy than the insects, and 
yet they disobey their Maker." 

" Do you mean children, father ?" 

" Yes, my daughter. When you see these beautiful and excellent 
works of your Heavenly Father, does it not make you love him, and 
desire to obey him ?" 

"Yes, father, but I very often forget." 

" Forget your Creator, my child ! You had better forget your 
parents, and every earthly friend. Think of the solemn injunction, 
* Remember noto-thj Creator in the days of thy youth.'" 

The conversation was here interrupted by their coming to a 



336 THE ERRING SON AND PRAYING MOTHER. 

watering place for horses, and observing a small, poorly-clad boy 
standing on a rock, near the road, and looking towards them. 

" What do you wish, my little fellow," said Mr. Burton. 

"I thought, may be, you'd let me put down your rein." 

" yes, and thank you," and Mr. B. turned his horse's head 
towards the rock which the boy had mounted, that he might be able 
to reach the check-rein. While the horse was drinking, the boy ran 
on, and planted himself on another rock to replace the rein. 

" Now my lad," said Mr. B., "you would like to be paid for your 
trouble." 

"Sometimes," said the boy, very modestly, "the gentlemen give 
me a cent." Mr. B. gave him a silver bit ; and, as the boy 
raised his eyes with an expression stronger than the hasty " thank 
you" which he uttered, his face' looked so intelligent, and yet so 
sad, that both Maria and her father wished to know who he was, and 
where he came from. L. L. H. 



THE ERRING SON AND PRAYING MOTHER. 

Eighteen or twenty years ago, there lived in Philadelphia a 
family, consisting of the parents and six children. The parents had 
long been devoted to God's service, and the children, as they grew 
up to years of thoughtfulness, in the order of the ages, followed the 
parents' holy example. But the youngest son seemed to be an ex- 
ception. He was a reckless, disobedient boy, and though not fond 
of bad company, yet he found means to commit many great sins 
without any such unholy aid. Many were the fears on his behalf 
that agitated the breasts of those pious parents ; and many the pray- 
ers that ascended from their lips, that God would open his heart to 
the showers of grace. 

On one occasion, he was detected in a very heinous offence. The 
mother's heart was almost broken by this new instance of depravity. 
What could she do ? He seemed not to care for punishment. How 
could his heart be reached ? Taking him into her chamber, she 
talked with him long and solemnly about his conduct, while the big 



THE ERRING SON AND PRAYING MOTHER. 337 

tears chased each other down her sorrow-wrinkled cheeks. Then 
making him kneel by her side, she poured forth such a prayer as 
only a mother, with a heart stricken by a child's sinful wanderings, 
can utter. His heart could not withstand such an appeal. He was 
humbled, he wept, he repented. 

A few years rolled away. Some few changes marked the history 
of that household. Yet the daily sacrifice continued to be offered 
on the family altar. One evening the father was hundreds of miles 
away, toiling for the maintenance of his loved ones. The elder 
brothers were absent at college. The high priest was indeed away, 
but the mother failed not to call around her the members of the 
family, and placing the Bible in the hands of the youngest son, asked 
him to conduct their devotions. He who once knelt by his mother's 
side, stained with sin, and trembling at her prayerful eloquence, was 
now indeed kneeling again by her side, but rejoicing in the peace- 
making blood of Christ, praying for her and hers. 

The mother's supplication was not in vain. She is now gone to 
her rest; but that son still treads the path of the living. And 
while pressing along life's eager race, emulating the progress of 
others towards fame and usefulness, his busy mind often reverts to 
that chamber of prayer, and that mother's face stained with bitter 
tears. The hour of temptation is then his hour of strength, and 
the moments of grief for her loss are brightened by the recollections 
of her reward. 



" Just before Dr. Grant's death, he said that the early religious 
impressions made by his godly mother had followed him in all his 
wanderings through life. Courage then. Christian mother ! you 
deem your sphere of action, humble and obscure, but you may be 
moulding a character that shall be felt around the globe and down 
through distant ages." 

22 



838 - A sister's influence. 



A SISTER^S INFLUENCE. 

BY LOLA FLOWRET. 

One pleasant spring morning, as the sun was rising in all its 
beauty, blessing with its smiles the budding earth, and the birds 
were singing their sweetest songs, as if in praise to their great 
Creator, Eliza and little Celia took a walk to enjoy the soft spring 
air, and view the loveliness of nature. The trees were just putting 
forth their rich green leaves, mingled with delicate pink buds, and 
the grass, on which the pearly dew trembled, was just peeping from 
the damp earth. 

*' Who made all these pretty things ?" asked Celia, gazing around 
admiringly upon the beauteous scene presented to her view. 

" Who do you think made them, dear?" said Eliza. 

''I don't know," answered Celia; "did you sister?" 

"No, Celia, I could not make such beautiful things." 

"Did papa?" 

"No." 

" Did mamma ?" 

"No, dear, they did not make them," answered Eliza, "God 
made them. He made everything that you see — the trees, and those 
pretty birds singigag so sweetly in their branches, the sun that shines 
so brightly, and the soft green grass on which we tread." 

"Did he ? Is that the God I pray to when I say my prayers?" 
asked Celia earnestly. 

" Yes, Celia, there is but one God." 

" Did he make the sky, and moon, and stars, that shine so brightly 
in the night?" 

" Yes, he made everything ; the little lambs that skip about so 
playfully, and the geese and ducks which you see swimming and 
playing on that glassy pond." 

" God is good. Did he make you and I ?" 

"Yes, dear sister." 

"0 how good God is," said the little one, her face lighting up 



A SISTER S INFLUENCE. 339 

with a radiant smile, as if the Holy One was already whispering to 
her spirit, " I will love him, and dearly too ?" 

"Yes, Celia, love him with all your heart." 

" If I love him, will he love me ?" asked Celia, gazing earnestly in 
her sister's face. 

" Yes, sister, if you are good, and obey God, he will love and take 
care of you." 

" Then I will be good, indeed I will, and I will love God with all 
my heart. God has made a beautiful world for us — I do love him now 
and always will." 

"I hope you will, dear," answered Eliza, earnestly, stooping and 
imprinting a kiss on the child's thoughtful brow. 

Thus they continued conversing, the stronger, wiser spirit im- 
parting to the infant mind her OAvn glowing thoughts, and gradually, 
cautiously, prayerfully leading the tender soul along the shining 
pathway from earth to heaven. Day by day she poured into her 
gentle heart thoughts laden with precious fragrance ; holy thoughts 
of God and heaven ; and day by day the infant mind expanded, her 
thoughts becoming clearer and deeper. 

Beautiful was it to see those two sisters sitting side by side ; one 
telling of the beauties and joys of heaven, the other with her sweet 
blue eyes raised to her sister's face, with an expression of intense 
earnestness, listening to the words, while her heart drank in their 
precious meaning. Methinks angels in heaven stooped to view the 
lovely scene, and lend their blessed influence. 

the power, the beauty of a sister's love ! How easily it wins 
its way to the hearts of her companions ! How insensibly the little 
ones are drawn to her by the silken cord of affection ! How 
naturally they go to her in all their little joys and sorrows, sure of 
her ready sympathy and loving smile ! I have sometimes thought 
that an elder sister possesses almost as much influence over the 
younger members of a family as a parent. 

If this be so, how carefully she should walk before them in the 
path of life ; kindly calling their attention to its varied beauties I 
Teaching them to avoid the bitter thorns of sin, while they gather 
the fragrant flowers that cluster around their way. How earnestly 
she should strive to perfect her own character, to subdue her " easily 
besetting sins," and to cultivate assiduously the noble feelings of 
the heart — the godlike powers of the intellect, as well as its moral 



'^40 MOTHER, HOME, AND HEAVEN. 



faculties ; and that sweet, subduing, soothing piety, which makes 
" love through all our actions run, and every word be mild." Then 
she will be better qualified to mould aright the tender minds with 
which she associates — to engrave indelibly upon their hearts pure 
and heavenly principles, which will be as a guardian star through 
life, and lead them silently to God and heaven. 



MOTHER, HOME, AND HEAVEN. 

Mother, Home, and Heaven, says a writer, are three of the most 
beautiful words in the English language. And truly I think that 
they may well be called so — what word strikes so forcibly upon the 
heart as mother? Coming from childhood's sunny lips, it has a 
peculiar charm ; for it speaks of one to whom they look and trust 
for protection. 

A mother is the truest friend we have* When trials heavy and 
sudden fall upon us ; when adversity takes the place of prosperity ; 
when friends, who rejoiced with us in our sunshine, desert us when 
troubles thicken around us, still will she cling to us, and endeavor 
by her kind precepts and counsels to dissipate the clouds of dark- 
ness, and cause peace to return to our hearts. 

The kind voice of a mother has often been the means of reclaim- 
ing an erring one from the path of wickedness to a life of happiness 
and prosperity. 

The lonely convict, immured in his dreary cell, thinks of the in- 
nocent days of his childhood, and feels that though other friends 
forsake him, he has still a guardian angel Avatching over him ; and 
that, however dark his sins may have been, they have all been for- 
given and forgotten by her. 

Mother is indeed a sweet name, and her station is indeed a holy 
one ; for in her hands are placed minds, to be moulded almost at her 
will ; aye, fitted to shine — not much, it is true, on earth, compared, 
if taught aright, with the dazzling splendor which awaits them in 
heaven. 

Home ! how often we hear persons speak of the home of their 
childhood. Their minds seem to delight in dwelling upon the recol- 



lost! lost! 341 



lections of joyous days spent beneath the paternal roof, when their 
young and happy hearts were as light and free as the birds who 
made the woods resound with the melody of their cheerful voices. 
What a blessing it is, when weary with care, and burdened with 
sorrow, to have a home to which we can go, and there, in 
the midst of friends we love, forget our troubles and dwell in peace 
and quietness. 

Heaven ! that land of quiet rest — toward which those, who, worn 
down and tired with the toils of earth, direct their frail barks over 
the troubled waters of life, and after a long and dangerous passage, 
find it safe in the haven of eternal bliss. Heaven is the home that 
awaits us beyond the grave. There the friendships formed on earth, 
and which cruel death has severed, are never more to be broken • 
and parted friends shall meet again, never more to be separated. 

It is an inspiring hope that, when we separate here on earth at 
the summons of Death's angel, and when a few more years have 
rolled over the heads of those remaining, if "faithful unto death,'' 
we shall meet again in Heaven, our eternal home,, there to dwell in 
the presence of our Heavenly Father, and go no more out forever. 

E. F. C. 



LOST! LOST 



How difficult, nay, impossible, is it to realize the full meaning of 
that word "Lost," unless you have felt yourself — lost. I have lost 
many articles on which I set more or less value, and a feeling of 
mortification and vexation has always accompanied the discovery 
of their loss ; for almost universally, it is the effect of carelessness, 
and self-reproach (the most painful feeling which can invade the hu- 
man breast) follows. 

Sometimes the gift of a much valued friend is thus carelessly lost, 
and if that friend is forever removed from sight by death or dis- 
tance, grief is added to vexation^ for it can never be replaced ; and 
the memory of association conveys a pang of deep regret, while the 
knowledge that regret is unavailing only increases the pang. 

But I have not only lost articles ; it has been my painful experi- 
ence, in common with the lot of others, to lose friends, parents, 
brothers, children. And then I have felt how small in comparison 



342 LOST ! LOST. 



was the loss of any mere article, however highly valued. Wealth 
was nothing worth when my child lay gasping for breath. The 
wealth of the world I would cheerfully have given, to retain that 
life fast ebbing out. But I have lost that child ; and novr is added 
to disappointment and grief, a sense of desolation that overpowers 
the soul. All, all seems gone, and present mercies, however abund- 
ant, are forgotten in the loss of — one. 

Again, I have experienced the loss of that inestimable boon — 
health. For years, my nervous system was so affected that I had 
no enjoyment of earthly things ; constant, agonizing pain prevent- 
ing even a cessation by sleep. Now, my loss was constant and 
protracted. 

But the most vexatious, mortifying, grievous, desolating, and all- 
absorbing loss I ever experienced, was when I lost myself. The cir- 
cumstances were these : I was residing in Ohio, and had lately removed 
from a village to a farm two or three miles distant. A creek and 
strip of forest land lay between them, and I had traveled the road 
but a few times. On the afternoon of a pleasant day in May, I 
left my home with my nephew, to transact some business in the vil- 
lage, and was urged by some friends to spend the night. I con- 
sented, and sent a message home by my nephew to that effect ; but 
upon reflection, I repented of the resolution, and told my friends I 
would walk home. They tried to dissuade me ; but I had been ac- 
customed to take long walks around the streets of London, and did 
not realize the difference between an American forest and well 
traveled roads. Finding me determined, I was accompanied to 
within calling distance of my home, and entered the precincts of our 
farm, though uninclosed. There I turned into a wrong path, and 
walked till I came to a spot I had never before seen; darkness was 
gathering around me, silence reigned, and I felt lost. Oh ! the 
distress of that moment ; I turned round, and then that bewilder- 
ment, felt only at such a time, came over me. I knew not whether 
my face was turned home or contrary ; and I wandered on, still 
keeping the path, till I reached a fence. This I climbed, and raising 
my voice to its highest pitch, called. Lost ! lost ! help ! help ! but no 
help came. It however, roused some dogs, and to escape them, I 
followed a path through some fields, and arrived at a house, which 
was vacated and closed (the fjimily, as I afterwards learned, being 
absent on a visit). I sat on the door-step, and there felt my utter 
helplessness. I could do nothing but wait till daylight. 



THE SAINTED DEAD. 343 



Mortified, vexed, grieved, reproaching self, desolate, absorbed in 
the one idea, I was lost. If hope had not been alive in mj bosom, 
I should have sunk in despair. But now joy and thankfulness 
filled my heart, as I realized by faith, that I was not lost spiritually, 
eternally. He who seeks and saves those who are lost, and commit 
themselves to his guidance, was peculiarly lovely to my soul. And 
I thanked God, that millions once lost, have been found, and 
gathered home by him. 

But then, again, I thought of the unspe-akable misery of a soul 
lost eternally, when first it realizes its dreadful state. Lost, to 
home, to friends, to self. Lost through carelessness, neglect of good 
advice, self-confidence, by taking a wrong step, following a wrong 
path, lost forever. 



THE SAINTED DEAD. 

My mother ! when I learned that thou wast dead, 
Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ? 
Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, 
Wretch even then, Hfe's journey just begun ! 
Perhaps thou gav^st me, though unfelt, a kiss; 
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss — 
Ah, that maternal smile ! it answers — yes ! 
I heard the bell toll'd on the burial day, 
I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, 
And, turning from my nurs'ry window, drew 
A long,, long sigh, and wept a last adieu I 
But was it such ? — It was. — Where thou art gone, 
Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. 
May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore. 
The parting word shall pass my lips no more ! 

COWPER. 

The Sainted Dead ! they are our treasures ! Like the inheritance 
upon which they have entered, they are incorruptible, undefiled, and 
they fade not away, but are reserved in heaven. 

Ho ! ye that would be rich — ye that seek for treasures — seek 
them not on earth. Earth yields only that which is mortal and 



344 THE SAINTED DEAD. 



perishable. That which dies seeks the earth, not that which lives. 
"Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust." This our fathers 
have repeated, and this they have experienced. They die quickly, 
the flowers of earth. It rusts soon, the gold of earth. They fade 
surely, the gems of earth. They must perish, the foundations of 
earth — if not before, in the flames of the last fire. Ho ! ye that 
seek for treasures : they are our treasures — living treasures — the 
Sainted Dead. 

Let us look upward. That is the destiny of spirits. It is the 
earth which whirls and moves ; the heavens stand permanent and 
sure. While the earth grows hoary with age, while empires fall and 
nations die, while the habitations of the dead are becoming more than 
the habitations of the living, while all things around us change and 
fade, the heavens still look down serene as of old upon this changing 
and restless earth. The stars which wink to us a loving "upward" — 
how changeless ! They are the same which Abraham and Job saw, 
and which, ages ago, 



" Gladdened, on their mountain tops, the hearts 
Of the Chaldean shepherds, till they poured 
Themselves in orisons." 



So calm, changeless, cheering, and loving, are the saints in light. 
Not like the false, fading glare of earthly treasures, is their pure 
and imperishable radiance ; for they " shine as the brightness of the 
firmament, and as the stars forever and ever." They are our 
treasures — changeless and shining treasures — the Sainted Dead. 

Let us look up hopefully. "Not lost, but gone before." Lost 
only like the stars of morning that have faded into the light of a 
brighter heaven. Lost to earth, but not to us. When the earth is 
dark, then the heavens are bright. When objects around us become 
indistinct and invisible in the shades of night, then objects above ns 
are more clearly seen. So is the night of sorrow and mourning ; it 
settles down upon us like a lonely twilight at the grave of our friends ; 
but then already they shine on high. While we weep, they sing ! 
While they are with us upon earth, they lie upon our hearts refrosli- 
mgly, like the dew upon flowers ; when they disappear, it is by a. 
power from above that has drawn them upward, and, though lost on 
the earth, they still float in the skies. Like the dew that is absorbed 



THE SAINTED DEAD. 345 



from the flowers, they -will not return to us ; but, like the flowers 
themselves, we will die, yet only to bloom again in the Eden above. 
Then those whom the heavens have absorbed, and removed from us, 
by the sweet attraction of their love, made holier and lovelier in 
light, will draw toward us again by a holy affinity, and rest on our 
hearts as before. They are our treasures — loving treasures — the 
Sainted Dead. 

Let us look up joyfully. Love is eternal. When the light and 
smiles of earthly love seem to perish in the grave, then it is night 
on earth and gloomy. " The setting of a great hope is like the 
setting of the sun. The brightness of our life is gone. Shadows 
of evening fall around us, and the world seems but a dim reflection — 
itself a broader shadow. We look forward into the coming lonely 
night. The soul withdraws into itself. Then the stars arise, and 
the night is holy!" All is yet not dark. Heaven kindles anew, 
across the sea of space, beacons of hope and promise. Though the 
flowers of love die in our hearts, they lose not their fragrance. The 
looks, the forms, the voices, the smiles of the dead are still with us. 
We feel their mysterious nearness. The remembrance of their 
kindness and love still teaches us to love them. 

Like the vase in which roses have once been distilled — 
You may break, you may ruin the vase if you will ; 
But the scent of the roses will hang round it still ! 

Their names are still to us "like ointment poured forth," the odor 
of which comes to us richest in our loneliest hours. Their image, 
lonely as the purest thoughts we can form of them, floats before our 
waking visions, and smiles upon us in the dreams of the night. 
Being themselves holy, the light of our love falling upon them 
becomes holy too. The heart gradually becomes like that which it 
loves. Purer than we are, our afi"ections are purified by the power 
of their attractions, as the sides of all objects grow bright that are 
turned towards the sun. These are our treasures — holy treasures — 
the Sainted Dead. 

Let us look up longingly. Where our treasures are, there let our 
hearts be also. The heart of the miser is with his gold. The eye 
of the merchant follows his freighted vessel till it disappears in the 
uim, distant blue ; then looks often into the vacant air that hangs 



346 THE SAINTED DEAD. 

over the broad sea, for its return, till he sees at last its hopeful 
pennants streaming ; and as it draws nearer, his heart grows fuller 
of grateful wonderment and hope. Now this thej do for perishable 
gain. Let us do the same, yea more, for that which perishes not. 
If earthly treasures draw the heart so strongly, ought not heavenly 
treasures more ? Yea, but our hearts are so gross and groveling, 
and feel so little the sweet attraction of the infinite and the pure. 
Let us long after them more ardently, our treasures — attractive 
treasures — the Sainted Dead. 

Let us look up lovingly. Love is stronger than all ills, and will 
crowd itself even through death. Love seeks and finds its object — 
dies, and yet dies not, in the pursuit. Under its guidance, we shall 
find the objects of our affections ; for it knows the homeward way. 
Come, ye living ! let us sit together under the moaning but ever- 
green cypress, and commune with the departed. Let us drive from 
our hearts Caesar's money-changers, and escape for a moment from 
the world's benumbing rattle. Let us draw softly down into the 
quiet border-land along the valley of the shadow of death. We will 
listen intently. The softest notes that float to our ears across the 
almost breathless solitude, shall tell us hopeful tales of a better land, 
and of those who dwell in it. We will cry earnestly into the hollow 
silence which so holds the lip of death's Lethean Jordan, as to allow 
it scarce a whisper of sorrow or joy. The earnestness of our voice 
will bring back tidings to the ear of faith. We will seek them, our 
treasures — eternal treasures — the Sainted Dead. 

Will we see them again ? — know them again ? — love them again ? — 
the Sainted Dead. This would we know ? We will institute, humbly 
but earnestly, our questionings. 

As "the deepest lore is the most universal," we will pass along 
the cool sequestered vale of common life, and listen to the deep 
longings and hopes of those who live and love 

" In the low huts of them that toil and groan." 

We will ask the mysterious prophetic sighings that come to us out 
of the Pagan gloom. We will seek for dawnings of hope in the 
Jewish twilight. We will look for clearer light in the Gospel dawn — 
He who brought immortality to light will teach us. We will draw 
nigh to the Apostles when they speak words of comfort to bereaved 



CHILDREN AND CHILDREN'S PARTIES. 347 

hearts — some fragments that prove the existence of a loaf shall be 

ours. The early Christians, whose hearts were still warm from the 

words of inspired lips, shall make us wise by holy tradition. The 

wise of after ages, whose minds were clearest because their hearts 

were purest, shall utter to us right things on this interesting subject. 

We will sit at the feet of the poets, who are " the interpreters of the 

human heart — the expounders of its mysteries," and who have an 

utterance given them that is denied to others ; they will not send 

us empty away. 

In all these researches, we cannot fail to gather some rays of 

sacred wisdom, to shine away the sorrow of bereaved hearts, and 

much of the gloom of death. Voices, though feeble, and unheard 

by the dull ear of worldlings, yet comforting as sweet songs of promise, 

shall answer to our questionings. They will whisper soothingly to 

us : You shall find them — know them — love them — your fadeless 

treasures — the Sainted Dead. 

Heavenly Home. 



CHILDREN AND CHILDREN'S PARTIES. 

Children's parties ! What think you of them ? In this age of 
progress, there is nothing more remarkable than the early maturity 
of our children. They are, at ten or twelve years of age, what the 
last generation were at twenty-five : as knowing, as profound, as 
easy in their manners, as assured of their perfect insight into all 
matters under discussion, as though age had set his signet on their 
brows; wiser than their teachers, "swift to speak, slow to hear." 
Now, the little unfortunates of this class are not so much to be 
blamed for the precocious development of their powers, as are we, 
their short-sighted parents ; and we only now begin to feel our error, 
when we find ourselves rather rudely elbowed ofi" the stage by these 
young prodigies of ours, who will scarcely permit us to finish a sen- 
tence, or relate an anecdote in their presence, without some correc- 
tion or explanation of their own appended thereto. Truly this is 
an age of progress ; but, however much we may exult in the march 
of mind in these latter days, there are few parents who do not feel 
that it would have been better, had their children not marched at 



348 CHILDREN AND CHILDREN'S PARTIES. 

quite GO rapid a rate towards premature man and womanhood. It 
is seriously a species of cruelty practised upon our children, when 
we deprive them of a natural relish for the amusements and inno- 
cent sports which the uninitiated child always delights in, by 
creating an early and unnatural craving after those pleasures and 
excitements, which, years ago, were only for those of mature years. 

Look at the over-dressed children we see constantly — see them at 
church, and everywhere, scanning the dress of their companions — 
annoying one, despising another, coveting this, or ridiculing that 
article of dress, aping the manners of the mothers in receiving 
visits from their little friends, which are now" as formal an affair, 
and as much a matter of fashion, as are the fashionable morning 
calls of the elder members of the family. Hear them talking 
about beaux and sweet-hearts, of how thei/ will live when they get 
married; see the simpering little beau of ten gallanting home the 
little coquette of eight, each so full of self-conceit and admiration 
of their own dear self, as to have but little to spare for any one else; 
see their airs and graces, their attempts at imitating the small talk 
of the larger fry, and confess that the sight is both ridiculous and 
distressing : ridiculous, as everything in nature must be which is 
wholly out of place and disproportioned; and, worse than ridiculous, 
distressing, because the sw^eet simplicity and artlessness of child- 
hood, which renders a true child so interesting, are gone (like the 
bloom of the peach rudely nipped off) never to return. 

The ingenuous frankness, the freedom from affectation, the fresh- 
ness of mind so characteristic of childhood, are all gone; and in lieu 
of them, what is substituted, but the excitements, the jealousies, and 
ambitious efforts after supreme admiration, which should never enter 
the imagination of a child ! 

But these children's parties, which I was thinking of when I began, 
are more objectionable on these grounds, than many other errors. 
These parties are, to the moral perverting of a childish nature, what 
the French boarding school is to the ordinary seminary ; they give 
the finishing touches to the mind and manners, and complete the 
work of mischief. And yet Christian parents have yielded to the 
importunities (not to say orders) of their little men and women at 
home, and have both permitted their children to attend them, and 
given others in return. Here all the objections attached to large 
parties come in full play, with double force; the waste of money 



CHILDREN AND CHILDREN'S PARTIES. 349 

and precious time in getting up the feast, the excitement attending 
the dressing, &c., the evil passions of ambition, jealousy, envy, 
coveting, evil speaking, &c., which such an affair is always sure to 
engender in the hearts of older persons, all these form an aggregate 
of evil influences, from which it is the solemn duty of the Christian 
parent to guard his child. Many a sorely tired teacher has wished 
from the bottom of his heart that such things as children's parties 
were never heard of — for how can he chain down the mind of a child 
to the dry realities of study, when the imagination is all on fire with 
the anticipated delights of the party ! 

Then, too, the party is nothing without dancing ; and although 
church censures would be passed upon the family professing religion 
who would give a dance to grown daughters, yet the like rule does 
not apply to the young ones. So the whole family enjoy a dance, 
and it is nothing objectionable. Now, where is the nice distinction 
drawn, which makes it right in one case and wholly inadmissible in 
the other? Do you say it is only children to whom the indulgence 
is* granted ? What then? They become passionately fond of the 
amusement you now set before them, and when they arrive at years 
of maturity, you deny them the gratification of those appetites you 
have fostered. Are you not cruel, as well as unreasonable in so 
doing ? and are you not taking these young immortals through a 
regimen, which will prematurely wear out their sensibilities, render 
them callous to good impressions, and hardened against all religious 
emotions, even while yet in age, they are nothing more than youth. 
Let the word of God, and the voice of conscience speak, and I am 
well assured your children will never have cause to reproach you 
for having trained them in such a manner, as to unfit them for use> 
fulness and happiness here, and life everlasting hereafter. 

S. B. S. 



" What shall preserve thee, lovely child ? 

Keep thee as thou art now ? 
Bring thee a spirit undefil'd, 

At God's pure throne to bow? 
The world is but a broken reed, 

And life grows early dim ; 
Who shall be near thee in thy need, 

To lead thee up — to Him V 



350 THE HARVEST MOON. 



THE HARVEST MOON. 

*^ Oh, mother, please throw open the shutters of the other window, 
for the moon shines in there so beautifully toward morning ! Edward 
and I are awake then, and Edward says he loves to have the moon 
shine on his face. Oh ! I think the winter is a great deal pleasanter 
than the summer, because we have such a bright moon. And then 
is it not a great saving to the city ? for they will not have to light 
the streets as much, as when there is no moon." 

It was difficult for Franky's mother to ascertain what idea he had 
respecting a "summer and winter moon;" and more difficult still? 
to make him understand that we had an equal distribution of moon- 
light in both seasons. He could not realize that he had usually been 
in his bed, and asleep in summer, before the light of the sun was 
fairly gone ; and how, during its short nights, after the fatigue and 
languor of its long days, he had generally slept until the sun made it 
day again. Hence the little fellow had never had many opportuni- 
ties to witness a summer-night, made enchanting by the glorious 
moon looking through the tall leaf-laden trees upon the dewy grass 
and flowers, and dusty street, and cheerless pavements, yes, and into 
his window too, making all appear like a landscape of beauty. 

What made him call it a winter moon was, because he was feeling 
the chilly autumn air, which, in contrast with summer, seemed to 
him like winter. And he had for several nights found his room 
made uncommonly cheerful, after the good-night had been said to 
his mother and the candle, by the full round moon, which seemed 
nearly in the same place each night. That had been the object of 
his admiration and thoughts, and he had now told his mother the 
sum of them. She told him that this was the "harvest moon:" 
that the full moons of September and October, in northern latitudes, 
were the most beautiful in the year ; as they rose several nights in 
succession, with but few minutes variation in time from one evening 
to another, and were familiarly called the " harvest and the hunter's 
moon." He could not have understood it, if she had attempted to 
explain to him how it was caused, by the position which the moon 
came to occupy toward the earth at that particular season of the 



THY FATHER. 351 



year. He could not have understood about the angles of the horizon 
and the moon's orbit, nor of the ecliptic and the signs of the zodiac. 
But the fact he could believe and admire. He could feel that it 
was wonderful, and that God, who made the moon and stars and sun, 
and held them in their places in the great blue depth, was a wonder- 
ful being, and ought to be loved for blessing us with their light, and 
feared and obeyed because of his wisdom and terrible majesty. 

Mrs. M. U. Clarke. 



THY FATHEE. 

" Grieve not thy father as long as lie liveth." 

Thy Father ! Why -with locks of snow 

Are thus his sacred temples clad? 
Why droops he over his staff so low, 

With trembling limbs and visage sad ? 
Care hath his brow with wrinkles scarred, 

His clustering ringlets shred away, 
And time with tyrant sceptre marred 

The glory of his manhood's sway. 

How oft that palsied hand hath led 

Thine infant footsteps weak with fear ; 
How gently bowed that reverend head 

Thy childhood's broken tale to hear ; 
And when those wayward feet have stray'd 

^Mid youthful follies, rashly free, 
Those lips invoked at midnight's shade 

The pardon of thy God for thee. 

If from his speech should dotage flow, 

Or eye, or ear, be dull and dead, 
Thou to his second childhood show 

The love that smoothed thy cradle bed. 
Grieve not thy sire ! for if his love 

Unblest, or unrequited be, 
He whom thou call'st thy Sire above 

Will bend a judge's frown on thee. 

Old Paper. 



352 THE CHAKACTEK OP DR A. JUDSON. 



THE CHARACTER OF DR. A. JUDSON. 

ITS MOTIVE-FORCES. 

BY FRANCIS WATLAND, D. D. 

Highly as I estimate the intellectual elements of the character 
of Dr. Judson, I think that its motive forces — if I may use the 
expression — were yet more remarkable. Of these, the most con- 
spicuous in the early part of his life was the intense love of supe- 
riority. He was ever striving to do what others had not done, or 
could not do. Everywhere it was his aim, though always by honor- 
able means, to be first. This disposition, instead of being checked, 
was cultivated by his father. Hence the excessive exultation which 
both of them felt when he received the first appointment in his 
class. This element of character, though modified and purified by 
religion, remained with him to the last. Hence his preference to 
preach Christ where he had never been named. Hence his desire 
to give to a nation that had never known of an eternal God, their 
first version of his revealed will. Hence, too, his extreme care in 
the translation, and his ceaseless labor in revision. No pains seemed 
to him too great, if they only tended to realize his idea of perfection. 

But this inherent love of excellence reposed on the basis of in- 
domitable perseverance. When once he had deliberately resolved 
upon a course of action, it was a part of his nature to pursue it to 
the death. His spirit clung to it with a grasp that nothing seemed 
to relax. Difficulties did not discourage him. Obstacles did not 
embarrass him. Hence, when he observed that the friends of mis- 
sions began to be disheartened because no converts had been made, 
after his residence of several years in Rangoon, the idea of failure 
never once occurred to him. Instead of sympathizing in the des- 
pondency of those who were merely giving of their abundance, 
without making a single personal sacrifice for the mission, he replied 



THE CHARACTER OF DR. A. JUDSON. 353 

by sending back words of lofty cheer, which struck upon the ear of 
the churches at home like the sound of a trumpet ; adding the me- 
morable request to be permitted to labor on in the name of the Lord 
of Hosts, and then, perhaps, said he, " at the end of some twenty 
years you may hear of us again." 

But it sometimes happens that great talents, even when united 
with a considerable measure of perseverance, fail from the want of 
power in other elements of character. Such men have large ideals, 
and they strive to realize them ; but they break down before the 
course is completed, and arrive at the goal only to confess that they 
have been distanced. They are unable to concentrate their efforts 
on a prolonged and agonizing struggle. They never come to the 
full and unreserved resolution to do or die. Their will fails at the 
critical point, and they fall back disheartened and beaten in the 
warfare of life. In this respect, Dr. Judson was peculiarly favored. 
He was endowed with a will of the very highest order. It was ca- 
pable of controlling his physical nature, so that his body would do 
or suffer whatever it was commanded. It subjected the material to 
the spiritual in a degree very rarely attained. Its power over his 
spiritual faculties was equally worthy of observation. It held them 
steadily to their work, without cessation, under every mode of dis- 
couragement, and most of all at the very moment when inferior 
natures would most readily yield to the pressure of difficulty. Nor 
was this all : it was capable of moulding the faculties themselves 
into any form which the exigency of the case demanded. He could 
have made himself a mathematician, a philologist, a diplomatist, a 
statesman, an impassioned orator, and perhaps a poet, by the strenu- 
ous exertion of his will. This is, I think, one of the rarest of 
human endowments, and it is bestowed only upon men who are emi- 
nently gifted. It has seemed to me that the highest range of human 
talent is distinguished, not by the power of doing well any one par- 
ticular thing, but by the power of doing well anything which we 
resolutely determine to do. 

To this we may add, that, in common with other men of a similar 
character, he was capable of relying with great confidence upon the 
decisions of his own judgment. Satisfied that he was acting from 
motives with which selfishness did not intermingle, and conscious 
that with pure intentions he had sought for truth wherever it was 
within his reach, he came to his conclusions with remarkable dis- 

23 



354 THE CHARACTER OF DR. A. JUDSON. 

tinctness, and he was always ready to carry them into practice at 
the cost of any personal sacrifice. From this element of his charac- 
ter it resulted that he rarely asked advice, and that he as rarely prof- 
fered it. Acting from the dictates of his own judgment, and taking 
it for granted that other men did, or ought to do the same, he was 
not forward in obtruding his opinions upon others, though perfectly 
willing to give to others the benefit of his counsel whenever it was 
desired. On this account, perhaps, it was frequently said, that he 
was peculiarly secretive, never revealing his plans or his counsels to 
his brethren. In how far this was the case I know not ; but I can 
readily conceive that a man who was so prone to act on the decisions 
of his own judgment would not be forward in soliciting the opinions 
of others. 

Such seem to me to have been some of the prominent elements 
of Dr. Judson's natural character. When he yielded himself, with 
his whole heart, as a servant of God, he became a new creature in 
Christ. He renounced the dominion of selfishness, and became the 
disciple of Him who went about doing good. The change in his 
character was marked ; and, with Saul, his language at once became, 
" Lord, what wilt thou have me to do ?" The answer to this ques- 
tion was received in the grove at Andover, where, as though an 
audible voice addressed hioi, the command reached his inmost soul, 
" Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature." 
He "was not disobedient unto the heavenly vision," but at once 
consecrated himself, with all his powers, to the missionary service. 

His piety was in some respects peculiar. The change that was 
wrought in him was so great, that through life he never doubted 
either of its reality or of his title to a heavenly inheritance. This 
at all times cheered and animated him in the hours of most depress- 
ing loneliness. Never after his conversion did he look upon God as 
any other than a reconciled Father in Christ. Everything that 
happened to him was sent in parental love, and he was content. 
Thus, emphatically, " the joy of the Lord was his strength." 

While this, however, was true of the relation which his religion 
bore to the outward circumstances of his life, it was by no means 
true that his inner life was destitute of wars and fightings. He 
seems from the beginning to have labored, with a rare earnestness, 
to subdue everything within liim to the obedience of Christ. Tt 
was not enough that he abstained from outward transgression, and 



THE CHARACTER OF DR. A. JUDSON 355 

felt assurance of his adoption into the family of Christ. He labored 
incessantly to achieve more and more signal victories over sin and 
selfishness, so that neither love of ease, nor ambition, nor social 
affection, nor dread of pain, or persecution, or death, could, in any 
manner, interfere with his love to God, and his cheerful obedience 
to the divine will. He seemed to have ever in his mind's eye the 
saying of Christ, " If any man come to me, and hate not his father 
and mother, and wife and children, and brethren and sisters, yea, 
and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple ;" " And whosoever 
doth not bear his cross, and come after me, cannot be my disciple." 
His inner life seems to have witnessed a struggle, in simple earnest, 
to realize in his moral affections an habitual obedience to this pre- 
cept. And he carried on this warfare in a remarkably practical 
manner. If he found that any desire or appetite was usurping an 
undue place in his affections, he proceeded at once to effect its en- 
tire subjugation. If the love of ease and comfort was creeping over 
him, he would spend weeks in a cabin in the jungle. If friends were 
becoming so dear as to becloud his consciousness of the love of 
Christ, he would live for weeks alone. If the dissolution of the body 
distressed him, he would sit for hours by the side of a grave, in 
order to overcome it. Nor were his labors unsuccessful. His dearest 
affections seem to have been subordinated in an uncommon degree to 
his views of religious duty. When his first wife, whom he loved so 
intensely, was obliged to return home for a season, he parted with 
her at Rangoon, leaving her to pursue her voyage alone, because he 
did not dare to leave the work which God had assigned to him, so 
long as he was able to perform it. When the second Mrs. Judson 
was obhged to flee to a northern climate, he would not have accom- 
panied her, much as he longed to see his native land once more, had 
she been able to go without him. And when she had apparently so 
far recovered as to be able to proceed without him, they had both 
resolved to separate — he to return to Maulmain and resume his labor ; 
she, with the children, to pursue the voyage to America. That must 
surely have been successful and vigorous training which enabled a 
soul to achieve such moral victories as these, and attain the habit of 
so athletic Christian virtue. 

It may be supposed that the faith of such a man was in a high 
degree simple and confiding. In this respect I have rarely seen it 
equalled. It seemed to place him in direct communication with 



356 THE CHARACTER OF DR. A. JUDSON. 

God. It never appeared to him possible, for a moment, that God 
could fail to do precisely as he had said ; and he therefore relied on 
the divine assurance with a confidence that excluded all wavering. 
He believed that Burmah was to be converted to Christ, just as much 
as he believed that Burmah existed. He believed that he had been 
sent there to preach the gospel, and he as much believed that the 
Holy Ghost would make his labors, in some way, or at some time, 
the means of the salvation of the nation, as he believed that there 
was a Holy Ghost. During his visit to Boston, the late venerable 
James Loring asked him, " Do you think the prospects bright for 
the speedy conversion of the heathen ?" " As bright," was his 
prompt reply, "as the promises of God." And this same spirit of 
unshaken confidence in God was manifested in all the affairs of life. 
In prayer, he asked not as a duty, nor even as a pleasure, but he 
asked that he might receive. He acted on the assurance that his 
heavenly Father delighted to bestow upon him whatever was for his 
best good. It was a common thing for him to ask until he receired 
in his own consciousness an assurance that his requests would be 
granted. Thus he prayed that he might be useful to the crew of 
the ship in which he sailed to the Isle of France, and to Maulmain ; 
thus he prayed and labored for the conversion of the Jews, and his 
prayers were, in a remarkable manner, answered. Thus he ever 
prayed for the early conversion of his children ; and it is worthy of 
remark that, since his death, three of them have, as we hope, be- 
come heirs of eternal life. 

In treating of his religious character, it would be an omission not 
to refer to his habitual heavenly mindedness. In his letters, I know 
of no topic that is so frequently referred to as the nearness of the 
heavenly glory. If his loved ones died, his consolation was, that 
they should all so soon meet in paradise. If an untoward event 
occurred, it was of no great consequence, for soon we should be in 
heaven, where all such trials would either be forgotten, or where the 
recollection of them would render our bliss the more intense. 
Thither his social feelings pointed, and he was ever thinking of the 
meeting that awaited him with those who with him had fought the 
good fight, and were now wearing the crown of victory. So habitual 
were these trains of thought, that a person well acquainted with him 
remarks, that " meditation on death was his common solace in all 
the troubles of life." I do not know that the habitual temper of his 



THE CHARACTER OF DR. A. JUDSON. 357 

mind can in any words be so well expressed as in the following lines, 
which he wrote in pencil, on the inner cover of a book that he was 
using in the compilation of his dictionary : — 

"In joy or sorrow, health or pain, 

Our course be onward still ; 
We sow ou Burmah's barren plain, 

We reap on Zion's hill." 

With these elements of character, intellectual and moral, culti- 
vated by internal discipline and external affliction, it might well be 
anticipated that Dr. Judson's career as a missionary would be worthy 
of observation. It has been necessary for me, in the preparation 
of the preceding pages, to consider this subject with attention. The 
impression which it has made upon me is, I will confess, somewhat 
unlike that which many men would expect to find in the history of 
one of the most able and original of modern missionaries. I per- 
ceive in his missionary life, from beginning to end, no bold strokes 
of policy, no train of masterly combinations, nothing that would 
liken a man to the statesmen and soldiers, who have filled the world 
with their renown ; but I behold something far greater — a man of 
decided ability, and probably capable of doing what soldiers and 
statesmen have done, planting the standard of the cross on an 
heathen shore, and esteeming his own wisdom foolishness, meekly 
laboring precisely as Christ and his apostles had given him an ex- 
ample. Though able to have struck out magnificent schemes of 
missionary labor, he never suggested one. Though he might have 
claimed the least laborious position, he always placed himself in the 
most laborious. Being the senior missionary of the Baptist 
churches, and by far the most conspicuous, he illustrated the con- 
ception he had formed by setting an example which all subsequent 
missionaries might most profitably follow. Old John Leland used 
to say, " There are many men little enough to be great — there are 
few men great enough to be little." 



358 THE WATCE AXD THE SOUL. 



THE WATCH AND THE SOUL 

I ONCE saw a preacher trying to teach the children that the soul 
would live after they were all dead. They listened, but evidently did 
not understand it. He was too abstract. Snatching his watch from 
his pocket he said, 

" James, what is this I hold in my hand?" 

"A watch sir." 

" A little clock," says another. 

"Do you see it?" 

''Yes sir." 

" How do you know it is a watch ?" 

"It ticks, sir." 

" Very well — can any of you hear it tick ? all listen now." 

After a pause — 

" Yes sir, we hear it." 

He then took off the case, and held the case in one hand and the 
watch in the other. 

"Now, children, which is the watch? You see there are two which 
look like watches." 

" The little one in your right hand." 

" Very well again. Now I will lay the case aside — ^put it away down 
there in my hat. Now let us see if you can hear the watch ticking !" 

" Yes sir, we hear it," exclaimed several voices. 

" Well the watch can tick, and go, and keep time, you see, when 
the case is taken off and put in my hat. The watch goes just as 
well. So it is with you, children. Your body is nothing but the 
case — the body may be taken off and buried up in the ground, and 
the soul will live and think, just as well as this watch will go, as you 
see when the case is off." 



THOU SHALT NOT STEAL. 



359 



^^^afi 




A LITTLE child with a serious look, 
Was wending her way to the school, 

A card, with a text from the holy Book, 
She bore in her hand as a rule. 



They were burning words that she read by the way, 

Which God on the mountain spoke, 
! heed them, child, or some terrible day. 

He'll sweep thee away with His stroke. 

S. S. G. 



360 HOW HARRY 1 ECAME A THIEF. 



HOW HARRY BECAME A THIEF. 

Harry Pendleton was as fine a Httle boy as ever shook a head 
of bright chestnut curls, or carried a pair of dark sparkling eyes. 
He had a noble, affectionate heart, and loved to chase the butter- 
flies in summer, and in winter to drag his little sled about on the 
patches of ice around his mother's dwelling. 

Harry was truly his mother's pet ; being her only son, and her 
only child. It was a proud day for her when she first arrayed him 
in his new jacket and pantaloons, and took him out to walk, after 
she had crowned his head with a new velvet cap, with a large silken 
tassel hanging gracefully toward his left shoulder. Not many 
mothers ever received from the Master-hand so fine a specimen as 
this ; and how her heart beat with satisfied pride, when she heard 
some ladies exclaim as they passed, " 0, what a beautiful child !' 

Mother, be cautious — ^let such words fall but lightly on thine ear. 
This is not the time for your heart to swell and be lifted up. That 
bvely form by your side is but an earthen vessel, though it contains 
a gem — a royal gem — an immortal gem, now in a plastic state. 'Tis 
left with thee, and thou canst give it shape, and as it hardens, grave 
upon it many a holy sentiment ; — burnish it — and with His help 
make it fit for the Master's use. And will you do it ? Did this 
mother do it ? We shall see. 

Harry's gentle winning ways twined themselves around his 
mother's heart-strings, like tendrils of the vine. He. was so merry, 
so affectionate, and so coaxing, that she could hardly make up her 
mind to deny him anything he wanted ; and if he now and then 
helped himself to a few pennies from her pocket-book to buy can- 
dies with, she could not say much, for she was so willing he should 
have them. And if he sometimes took an apple from the basket of 
Mr. Smith, the grocer on the corner, she did not think it was any- 
thing. Mr. Smith was so fond of Harry, she was quite sure he was 
willing he should have as many apples as he wanted, whether he 
asked for them or not. True she would sometimes say to him, " Harry, 
that is naughty, you must not get Mr. Smith's apples without leave * 
but Harry would say, "he don't care, he's got apples enough." 



HOW HARRY BECAME A THIEF. 361 

After Harry became larger, and took something of more value, 
his mother talked to him very seriously, and punished him quite 
severely, though she did not insist on his returning it ; thinking it 
would not be missed, and it would only expose the child to disgrace. 
She herself, however, being a pretty honest woman, returned the 
article slyly to its place. 

Mrs. Pendleton, however, was not a woman who thought much 
of little things. She didn't mind now and then borrowing a pair 
of gloves from the drawer of the lady who lived in the same house 
with her, without asking her consent to the loan. If she happened 
to be out of bread, or butter, she did not mind, in an extreme case, 
to help herself to her neighbor's store, though she always meant to 
return as much, or more, and quite as good. 

Harry did not take anything for some time. At length his im- 
pressions wore away, and he began again to pilfer small articles, 
such as nuts and fruits. Sometimes he would venture to take a 
knife from his schoolfellow's desk, but generally he took nothing 
more than a pencil, and was always so sly and artful as to escape 
detection. He was also very lucky about finding things. If a ped- 
dler called at his mother's, he often found a ring or a little breast- 
pin under a chair after he was gone, and sometimes he would find a 
quarter or a shilling under some tree, by the way-side. 

His mother sometimes feared that there was something not quite 
right about his good fortune, and would question him very closely 
about it ; but he avowed that what he said was " certain true," and 
made everything appear so plausible, that his mother hoped for the 
best. 

Years past on, and just as Henry Pendleton was verging upon 
manhood, he was sent to the city to be a merchant's clerk. At this 
time, in appearance, he was one of the finest fellows I ever met. In 
the city, as he became acquainted, he was caressed and flattered by 
all who knew him ; and it scarcely need be added, that he drew to 
the store of Messrs. Edwards, Spratt & Co., many a fair customer. 
But, alas ! for poor Pendleton ! it proved a sorry day to him, 
though its morn was so bright and cloudless. Here his temptations 
to pilfer were very strong — here he could pilfer to considerable ex- 
tent without detection ; a sixpence at first, then a quarter, a half, a 
whole, and after a while, being much in want of spending money, 
he ventured on fives and tens. Having become quite popular with 



362 HOW HARRY BECAME A THIEF. 

the young men, he joined a club, who were in the habit of meeting 
after stores were shut, for the purpose of regaling themselves with 
oysters, wine, &c., intermingled with whist, cigars, and other exer- 
cises as usual on such occasions. Here was a demand for the fives 
and the tens, and here they were used to considerable extent. At 
the store they were finally missed ; Pendleton, and one or two others 
were suspected, charged, and plead guilty. The matter was, how- 
ever, hushed up, but poor Pendleton was sent away in disgrace. 
Some year or two afterward, I heard of him as hostler at a little 
village inn, where they sold rum. The course of sin is always 
downward, unless arested by Divine grace. Young Pendleton was 
finally led to commit a very disgraceful act, and to escape arrest 
took passage in a ship for California. Arrived in Sacramento city, 
he joined that terrible horde of gamblers, by which he was robbed 
of all his ill-gotten wealth. Nothing was now left for him but to 
wander forth without a home, without friends, and without money. 

One morning, in a broken shed, on a pallet of straw, a human 
form was discovered. It was prostrate, stifi", and cold. The vital 
spark had fled, and the spirit was before its God. Thus ended the 
life of Henry Pendleton. And thus perished a mother's pride, and 
a mother's hopes ; which, but for her own careless hand, might have 
been the stay of her declining years, and a gem in the diadem of 
Heaven. S. S. G. 



He that spareth his rod, hateth his son ; but he that loveth him, 
chasteneth him betimes. 

My son, if thine heart be wise, my heart shall rejoice, even mine. 

The rod and reproof give wisdom, but a child left to himself 
bringeth his mother to shame. 

Correct thy son, and he shall give thee rest ; yea, he shall give 
ielight unto thy soul. — Bible. 



RECOLLECTIONS OF HOME. 363 



RECOLLECTIONS OF HOME. 

BEREAVEMENT— AND THE GOOD RESOLUTION, 

It was the autumn after my brother's return, in good health and 
spirits, from his second voyage, that my dear mother's health began 
to fail. At first, we had no serious apprehensions concerning her 
disease. She appeared weak and languid ; but the physician who 
attended her said, that there was nothing alarming in her case. 
This opinion was given the very day that Robert bade us farewell 
to go on his third voyage, so that he was relieved from that distress- 
ing anxiety which he must otherwise have felt on leaving home. 

My father journeyed with her for some weeks, and on her return 
she seemed stronger, and more able to exert herself without fatigue. 
I had, during her absence, acted for the first time as sole house- 
keeper, but she soon claimed a share in my cares and labors. The 
latter were not very arduous, for Hepsy, now past eighteen, was a 
strong, capable, and, what is more, a willing girl. My father, al- 
ways thoughtful and judicious, suggested soon after my mother's 
return that I should take the entire charge of house-keeping. He 
said that such an arrangement would be beneficial to me, that it 
would help to teach me habits of punctuality and order, and give 
me that practical knowledge of domestic duties which every woman 
should possess. Besides, he was sure that it would be a great relief 
to my mother, and at his solicitation she consented to make the ex- 
periment. So the next morning saw me reinstalled as housekeeper ; 
not, however, without some misgivings, now that my father was at 
home to observe my superintendence. He was very neat and or- 
derly himself, and somewhat apt to notice any deficiency of these 
habits in others. He always wanted everything well done ; often 
saying, that anything " that was worth doing at all, was worth doing 
well ;" and although he was very far from being an epicure, yet he 
had a great dislike to smoked, burned, or half-cooked dishes. And 
my dear mother's provident care, and admirable management, had 
hitherto almost entirely preserved him from these petty annoyances 
of life. And she used to say, that she had been much assisted in 



364 RECOLLECTIONS OF HOME. 

her efforts, for this purpose, by the "help" which, when her chil- 
dren were small, she was fortunate enough to obtain. And indeed 
Judith, who lived in our family eleven years, was a pattern of order 
and neatness. She was one of the best appliers of the good old 
maxims, " A place for everything, and everything in its place," "A 
time for everything, and everything in its time," that I ever met 
with. When she left us to be married, we all sincerely sorrowed for 
her loss, for she was as kind and obliging as she was neat and 
orderly. 

On the whole, I entered upon my new duties with considerable 
cheerfulness and alacrity, for I knew that my mother's safe counsel 
would be at hand on every emergency. Besides, she had faithfully 
instructed me in this department of female labor ; and although I 
had not acquired the knowledge which can only be derived from con- 
stant practice, yet I possessed enough to feel some confidence in my 
own ability to succeed. There were several failures during the two 
or three first weeks. A few dishes were over or under-done, and 
once or twice some missing articles of my father's wardrobe were 
found in Henry's drawers. He made, however, every necessary allow- 
ance for his young housekeeper, and my mother's approving words 
encouraged me in my efforts to persevere. Alas ! I little knew how 
soon those approving words were to be lost to me forever ! 

Her health had continued better for several months, when her for- 
mer illness returned, and she seemed much weaker than before. 
Still, however, we did not apprehend any danger. We flattered 
ourselves that there was no fixed disease, and that she would gain 
strength again, as she had done before. She was as cheerful as 
usual — as calm and as watchful for the comfort and happiness of 
every member in the family. She conversed with me much upon 
religious subjects, and was evidently extremely anxious that I should 
then consecrate myself to the service of God. She had always been 
deeply solicitous for the spiritual welfare of her children, but now 
she seemed even more earnest than usual in urging the claims of 
personal piety. 

A letter came from my brother Robert — a letter which filled my 
mother's heart with joy and thankfulness, and which moved my 
father, even to tears. It contained tidings of the writer's hopeful 
conversion to God. It was written with a touching pathos, and with 
a depth and earnestness of feeling which we hardly knew before 



RECOLLECTIONS OF HOME. 365 

that our wanderer possessed. I have it before me now, and have 
stopped my pen to read it. It is evidently written with a heart full 
of true humility and deep devotion. Every line plainly shows, that 
the writer had trusted himself and his interests to the Saviour ; that 
without his mediation he was fully satisfied he could hope neither for 
pardon nor peace ; and that he was resolved, through his abundant 
grace, henceforth to serve him faithfully. I cannot forbear copying 
a short paragraph, in which he speaks of our mother's counsels and 
prayers. 

" Yes, my dear mother, your religious teachings, your prayers 
with and for your stubborn son, were the instruments in the hand 
of God of leading me to himself. 0, why did I not regard your 
affectionate warnings in the days of my childhood ! 0, why did I 
not then gladden your heart, by consecrating to my best Friend the 
life which he had given me. I cannot but mourn bitterly over the 
perverseness and hardness of heart which kept me so long estranged 
from my Creator and Preserver. 0, how much I would give to see 
you now, to thank you and my dear father, again and again, for 
your afi"ectionate, faithful counsels. It seems as if I can never be 
grateful enough for your watchful care, your Christian instructions, 
and prayers. It is a great blessing to have pious parents, and I 
try to thank God for it every day of my life." 

This is but a brief extract from the letter, which gave rise to 
so much joy and gratitude in the hearts of both my parents. My 
mother said, that one such letter in a lifetime was enough to repay, 
manifold, the most self-denying and faithful disciple of Jesus for 
ail his imperfect services. And I well remember my father's grate- 
ful prayer on the evening of the day on which the welcome tidings 
were received ; and his voice faltered as he gave thanks for a boon 
so rich — a blessing of which, as he expressed it, he was so unworthy. 
Then it grew stronger, and his words flowed eloquently, as though 
he would pour out his full heart in gratitude to God. And he closed 
with one earnest and fervent petition, that his other children might 
be made partakers of that hope, "which is as an anchor to the soul, 
both sure and steadfast." Alas ! for the hardness of the human 
heart, that appeals so powerful could be resisted. 

My dear mother seemed to revive after receiving such blessed 
tidings from her son ; but it was only for a short period. She soon 
faltered again, and more decided symptoms of disease made their 



366 RECOLLECTIONS OF HOME. 

appearance. Her difficulty of breathing, the burning spot upon 
her cheek, and the hollow sounding cough, all told a fearful 
tale. My father's anxiety became intense. The physician gravely 
shook his head, and pronounced the present symptoms alarming. 
0, these dreary words ! how heavily they fell upon my heart ! My 
father groaned when they reached his ears ; and then leaning his 
head upon his hands, sat for a long time without either speaking 
or moving. When he rose to return to my mother's room, I was 
struck by his extreme paleness. He laid his hand upon my head, 
and said: ^'I shall not tell her to-night. To-morrow" — and then, 
as if unable to speak another word, he left the room. As yet, all 
the family, excepting my father and myself, were ignorant of the 
physician's opinion. My father had followed him down stairs for 
the purpose of learning it ; and I, thinking that this was his pur- 
pose, had immediately joined him. I could not bring myself to tell 
Henry and Elsy then. It seemed as if repeating it would only 
make it the more sure. It was evening, too, and the morning I 
thought would be quite soon enough for such sorrowful tidings to 
reach their ears. 

I passed a sleepless night. I could not endure the thought of 
losing my mother. Life appeared utterly valueless without her. I 
seemed, for the first time, to awaken to a true sense of her worth. 
A thousand instances of her patient kindness, her untiring care, her 
unwearied affection, and her generous self-denial for the good of 
her children, all passed in review before me. And how little had I 
thought of them — how poorly requited them ! I longed to have her ' 
live, that I might manifest more of my love and gratitude than I 
had ever yet done. 

The morning came — bright and beautiful — and with it hope came 
also. It is a rare thing for the young entirely to despond. Their na- 
tural buoyancy of spirits, and the little which they have usually expe- 
rienced of life's disappointments and sorrows, lead them to look more 
upon the "brighter side of the picture," than those whose experience 
has better taught them the uncertainty of all below. Hope is their 
natural, and almost inseparable companion, and th-ey cling to it all 
the more closely when threatened by the first grievous affliction. 
Our beloved invalid looked better in the morning. She welcomed 
my first appearance in her room with a bright and happy smile. 
Her words were cheerful, too, and I could not help thinking that we 



RECOLLECTIONS OF HOME. 367 

had been needlessly alarmed. She seemed unusually well throughout 
the day. I told Henry and Elsy what the physician had said the 
evening before. But my own hopefulness led me to express much 
doubt of the correctness of his opinion, and, consequently, they re- 
ceived the information with much less sorrow than they would other- 
wise have done. Indeed, they were more incredulous than myself. 
Elsy, especially, appeared to consider it hardly, possible that our 
dear mother was in danger of dying from her present illness. 
" Why," said she, " what can make the doctor think so ? I am 
sure she isn't very sick. She sits up almost all day, and she ^alks 
about in the garden, and all round the neighborhood. " 

My father said nothing to favor our hopes. He was unusuaily 
silent, seldom speaking except to my mother. After dinner I found 
an opportunity of asking him, if he intended telling her what the 
physician had said. I was surprised to hear that he had already 
done so. She had suspected something from his manner the even- 
ing before, and made inquiries, which he could not well evade. She 
received the information with great calmness and resignation — said 
she had long thought that her symptoms were consumptive, and that 
she should live but a short time. She said, that if it pleased God, 
she should like to live to see all her children walking in newness of 
life. Then she could depart in peace and joy. ! how my hopes 
sunk, when I found that my mother's opinion was in harmony with 
that of the physician. And my father, too, evidently feared the 
worst. 

Three months after this time, my dear mother's remains were 
committed to the silent tomb. I had hoped and feared alternately, 
until death, with his stern visage, came to decide the matter. She 
was as gentle, as uncomplaining, and as cheerful in sickness as in 
health. Never was there a more patient sufferer ; never one, I think, 
more disposed to acquiesce in the righteousness and wisdom of her 
Heavenly Father's ways. Her greatest concern seemed to be, lest 
any of her children should neglect to seek the salvation of their 
souls. Even in the last hour of her life, she tenderly and earnestly 
entreated us to delay no longer striving to enter in at the straight 
gate. Her death was peaceful and happy. She had lived the life 
of a Christian, and she did not fear, but rather rejoiced to die. 

■ But her gain was our exceeding loss. 0, those first weeks and months 
of bereavement ! how slowly and drearily they passed away. Our home 



368 RECOLLECTIONS OF HOME. 

had lost its sunshine, and our hearts the beloved one on whom they 
could so sweetly repose. Her dear and lamented image haunted all 
our familiar scenes. Every hour in the day we missed the gentle 
ministry of her constant and devoted love. It appeared to me that 
I had no joy on earth, now that my dear mother had gone from me. 
How wearisome were all my former pursuits ! I seemed to act me- 
chanically when pursuing any household occupation, or when en- 
gaged in any other necessary employment. I sadly missed the 
ready and affectionate sympathy, which had so cheered and encour- 
aged my labors, and without it life seemed a- burden. I scarcely 
made any atttempt to console my father, although I knew from his 
sad countenance, and dejected manner, that grief was busy at his 
heart. 

I was roused from this state of apathy by reading some passages 
in my lamented mother's journal. They were expressive of her 
earnest desire, that her children might be brought to the knowledge 
of God. They seemed to speak to me, as with a voice from the 
grave. I recalled all her early religious instructions, and I resolved 
that I would at least try to obtain that peace which she had been 
so anxious that we should all possess, and I began to pray for the in- 
fluence of the Holy Spirit ; and after a hard struggle, I trust I was 
enabled, through Divine aid, to consecrate myself to the service of 
my Maker. But I have never ceased to regret living so long in sin. 
If I had but given my heart to God in the days of my childhood, 
how much of remorse and sorrow might I have escaped. 

We all sorrowed much in the anticipation of what Robert's sorrow 
would be, when he should return to his bereaved home. "Poor 
Robert," Elsy would say, "how sad he wdll feel, when he knows that 
he can never see our dear mother again ;" and the starting tear in 
Henry's eye, would evince his sympathy in his brother's anticipated 
grief. 

The vessel arrived, but it conveyed to us no beloved son or brother. 
On his return voyage, Robert had sickened with fever, had died, 
and found a grave on a solitary island. He had breathed his last 
in the triumphs of faith, and had, by several weeks, proceeded our 
dear mother on the retuinless journey. 

We were now indeed a broken family; but we seemed to cleave 
together all the move closely, because uf the afliictioii which had cast 
its deep shade over our beloved home. For several months after the 



RECOLLECTIONS OF HOME. 369 

decease of our lamented ones, I could not divest myself of a gloomy 
presentiment of coming ill to some one of the survivors. Often 
when my father left the house for his daily business, the fear would 
arise that he might never return. And if Henry and Elsy looked 
a little paler than usual, or were attacked by a slight cold, I was 
tortured by anxiety lest they too should die. In such cases, I 
seemed to have lost all power of reasoning — I could only feel. In 
time, however, I was enabled to cast all my care upon the Lord, 
with a firm conviction, that all his appointments were in infinite wisdom 
and mercy. He never afflicts willingly, nor grieves the children of 
men. 

Years had passed away since the death of our beloved mother and 
brother ; Henry and myself were married and settled in life, but 
Elsy still continued with my father at the quiet homestead. I wrote, 
entreating a visit from them both ; a longer visit than I had yet been 
able to induce them to make us. I pleaded strongly for it, and to 
my great joy a letter from them soon reached me, signifying their 
intention to be with me in the course of a few days. 

This visit was indeed a welcome treat both to my husband and 
myself. And it was long remembered by us as an occasion of 
grateful joy, for during its continuance my sister Elsy, as I have 
every reason to believe, gave her heart to God. I was one morning 
busily employed in my own room, when Elsy entered with a small 
Bible in her hand. This Bible had been my mother's, and many 
passages in it had been marked by her pencil. I noticed that my 
sister's step was slower than usual, and that her countenance wore a 
thoughtful and solemn expression. She drew a chair beside me, and 
seating herself, said, " I have formed a new resolution this morning, 
and I have come to you for sympathy and help to keep it. Then 
opening the Bible, at a place where her finger had rested, she showed 
rae the passage: " Seek the Lord, while he may be found," and over 
against it I saw pencilled, " yes, I will seek him, nothing shall hin- 
der me." 

'' I have written these words," she said ; " I felt as if I could no 
longer delay recording such a resolution. My dear mother's pious 
counsels, her strong and earnest entreaties that I should yield my 
heart to the Saviour, and lead a religious life, have been of late the 
chief subject of my thoughts. On the last New Year's day that I passed 
with her, she said at the close of an aifectionate warning : ' Resolve, 

24 



370 RECOLLECTIONS OF HOME. 

my dear child, to seek the Lord. Let nothing hinder you ; there is 
nothing in this transient and sinful world, worthy to hinder such a 
work. These words have haunted me day after day." 

" Sometimes they seemed to come from her still and lonely grave, 
and then again they seemed a warning from the bright world, where 
I know her blessed spirit lives. This morning, I resolved by the 
help of God to follow her counsel, to make it my daily business to 
seek the Lord, and I want you to teach me, my dear sister, how best 
to keep this resolution." 

0, what cheering words were these to my heart ! I could hardly 
command my voice to speak in reply. I had been so anxious for 
the spiritual welfare of this beloved sister, and now as I trusted, she 
would really seek and find the favor of God. My thoughts went 
up in mingled thankfulness and petition to that Divine Spirit, whose 
work is so gracious, and so effectual. 

When emotion permitted my speaking, I entreated Elsy to let 
nothing tempt her to break the resolution which she had formed, and 
assured her of my willing help, so far as I could help, in her efforts 
to enter into the kingdom of Heaven. Through the grace of God 
her resolution was kept, and it w^as not long before she experienced 
that peace which passeth understanding. My dear father seemed 
overcome with gratitude and joy at the conversion of his youngest 
born. He said he could say with one of old, " Lord, now lettest 
thou thy servant depart in peace, for my eyes have seen thy sal- 
vation." 

The succeeding summer Elsy made an open profession of her 
faith in Christ, and united herself with the church in her native 
town. This event took place about a year after our brother Henry 
had joined a church in a town several miles distant from his early 
home. 

Thus God has followed our family with grace and mercy, and 
brought us all, as I trust, to a knowledge of himself. My dear 
father lived to a good old age, the powers of his mind to all appear- 
ance unimpaired, and his heart clinging more and more closely to 
the God of his youth, as he drew nearer his eternal home. 

On Elsy's marriage, she removed from her native town to a new 
settlement in one of our western States, and for many years the 
house where our earliest days were so happily passed was inhabited 



RECOLLECTIONS OF HOME. 371 

by strangers. Then I came in my loneliness to tenant it once 
again. 

It is a melancholy task for one in the decline of life to review 
the events of early days. Few have passed from childhood to youth, 
and from youth to manhood, without experiencing the pressure of 
some heavy affliction, the remembrance of which never fails to cast 
a dark shadow over their earthly path. And fewer still can look 
back even upon the spring-time of life, without some feelings of re- 
morseful regret. Omissions of duty, wrong thoughts, and words 
and deeds, are sadly and gloomily recalled. The slightest act of 
disobedience, or ingratitude toward parents, whose beloved forms 
have long since been removed from our sight ; cold or unkind words 
addressed to brothers and sisters, who have gone to their last long 
home, are remembered with a distinctness and sorrow, which seems 
rather to increase than diminish as the survivor draws near the 
threshhold of the grave. 0, those impatient words, and those deeds 
of unkindness toward the lamented dead ! How much does their 
recollection mar the soul's peace and happiness. And there are 
few who can look back upon the days of their childhood with the 
pleasant, grateful thought, that then they began to love and serve 
their Creator. The early lives of many have been passed in 
the forgetfulness and neglect of Him, who gave them life and every 
other blessing. And the memory of this alienation of heart from 
their best Friend, even when they trust it has been forgiven, 
awakens many a sorrowful emotion. 

It has not been my design to describe the scenes and events of 
my mature life. I have noted some of the events of my early days ; 
not because they were more remarkable than ordinary, but because 
they may possibly convey some useful lesson to the reader. A 
Christian mother's influence has been, under God, the guiding star 
of my life. And, although the seed which she scattered with a 
careful hand did not, in the early years of sowing, spring up to 
bear much fruit, yet the harvest came at last; a harvest of no scant 
and temporary character, but one exceedingly abundant, and I trust 
lasting as eternity 



372 THE COVEXANT 



THE COVENANT. Gen. ix. 9. 



The Sacrifice is ofi'er'd, 

The precious blood is shed ; 
Jesus, the sacred Victim, 

Is risen from the dead. 
Upon the throne in glory, 

Behold, the Father smiles ; 
And, through the great atonement, 

The lost world reconciles ! 

His Covenant established 

In Christ's redeeming blood ; 
Now all who seek and trust Him 

May be the sons of God. 
The Spirit's lovely graces 

And joys to them are given ; 
With glorious dwelling places 

Of happiness in Heaven. 

Come, then, receive the blessing, 

Ye souls for whom He died ; 
His heart is full of mercy — 

Your wants shall be supplied. 
Come, parents, with your children, 

Before Ilim humbly fall; 
His covenant is gracious, 

And ample for you all. 



J. N. B. 



FEMALE INFLUENCE. 



373 



FEMALE INFLUENCE. 

BY "cousin ROBERT." 

" As the present generation of women are, so will the next gene- 
ration of men be," is an aphorism that should claim the serious 
attention of every lover of their species. 

Woman in all the relations of life exerts an influence of great 
magnitude upon men in forming their characters and minds. As a 
companion or associate she moulds their characters to an assim- 
ilation with her own. If she is intelli2;ent and virtuous, if she 
is pious and refined, she will have an elevating, moral, and refining 
influence upon all with whom she associates. All that is noble in 
the character of man is attributable to the influence of woman. Man 
forms his character from female influence. 

As a sister she has, in kind, an influence over a brother that no 
other person has. How often is it, that in his waywardness, he will 
listen to no advice, nor yield to any influence, while that of a kind 
and affectionate sister will reach and soften the callous heart, and 
her advice save an almost abandoned brother. A sister's influence 
is one of the dispensations of a merciful God, who knows the secrets 
of all minds, and can counteract by living means, the purposes of a 
depraved heart: often after the admonitions and exhortations of a 
kind father, and the tears and entreaties of a Christian mother have 
been unavailing in reclaiming a wicked son, has the influence of a 
pious sister stopped the prodigal — caused him to repent, and by tbe 
grace of God been the means of leading him to the Lamb of God 
whose blood cleanseth from all sin. Where the sister is easy and 
graceful in her manners, modest and unassuming in her demeanor, 
intelligent and truly pious, the brother will rarely ever be otherwise 
than virtuous and refined. 

Woman, — as a wife presiding with dignity, and discharging with 
cheerfulness the responsible and often onerous duties of her station ; 
elegantly neat in her dress and household arrangements ; modest, 
but firm in her actions and principles ; amiable in disposition, winning 
m her manners ; intelligent and chaste in conversation ; and by lier 
piety and prudent management, making her home delightful; such 
a wife's influence is not confined to her own household and fireside, 



B74 FEMALE INFLUENCE. 



but it adds a lustre to the female character, and goes out as an 
example to others, and becomes progressive in its effects for good. 
T am so deeply impressed with the vast importance of female influ- 
ence in giving tone to the feelings, and sentiments, and characters of 
men for good or evil, that I feel, if we would have our men virtuous, 
noble, high-minded, and refined, women must be virtuous, intelligent, 
and refined. Place them in the position God intended they should 
occupy. Give them all the advantages of a moral and intellectual edu- 
cation, that they may thereby be fitted and qualified to fill that sta- 
tion in society, and away with the ephemeral and superficial education 
(which is too common,) that only makes them fine dolls and pretty 
playthings ; which does not prepare them for any of the duties 
for which they were made ; but in a great measure wholly unfits them 
for the sober and stern realities of life. By education, intellectual and 
moral, exalt and elevate woman in the scale of being, and such is 
her influence that she will exalt and elevate man. 

Whilst the minister of God proclaims salvation to a dying world 
through the merits of a crucified Saviour, from the sacred desk, a 
pious woman by her example will teach the same glorious truths, 
showing thereby that there is a beauty and reality in the religion of 
our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. The pious mother, with her 
little children around her becomes the preacher, and upon the tender 
tablets of their young hearts she impresses the simple but soul-saving 
truths of the Gospel which can never be eradicated. 

What sight does this world afford more lovely than an accomplished 
daughter, with piety and graceful dignity filling her place in society. 
Ennobling and refining those with whom she associates by her 
modesty, easy, dignified, and elegant manners and conversation, 
amiable, cheerful, and pleasant, she gains the esteem of all who 
know her, and the admiration of all with whom she associates. 
Mothers, I am aware that you cannot give yojir daughters minds or 
intellect, but you can polish, or you can deface that which is given 
tliem. You can mould that mind for evil, or you can bias it for 
good. You can write upon their hearts the sentiments that you 
would desire them afterwards to be governed by, or you can by your 
actions or by a false tenderness, write sentiments of disobedience to 
parental authority, contention and vice. You may sow the seeds 
of virtue, and by carefully watching the little bud, by nurturing and 
cultivating it, you may see it become a tree bearing rich and precious 



FEMALE INFLUENCE. 375 



fruit, or you may permit these tender plants to take their own bent ; 
and it Avill soon become a howling waste, overgrown by noxious and 
poisonous weeds ; alas ! how many mothers, in their desire to have 
their daughters fashionable, are sowing the seeds of vanity and 
dissimulation which have a tendency to destroy everything that is 
amiable and excellent in their characters, and are thereby unfitting 
them for the duties of wives and mothers, which they are expected 
to perform in after life. A superficial education and a "tinsel 
show" is the whole ambition of many mothers in the education of 
their daughters. How many seem to forget that their daughters 
have minds to improve, and immortal souls to save or lose, while all 
their thoughts, time, and means are spent in decorating their persons, 
and in giving grace to their forms ; never seeming once to reflect 
that the graces of the mind are infinitely superior to those of the 
body. 

Dress your daughters in the most fashionable style, and decorate 
their persons with the most costly jewels and ornaments, and among 
sensible men they willl not be esteemed as highly as when dressed in 
unafiected, elegant simplicity. A well improved mind and true piety, 
will give to your daughters lasting happiness, while fashionable dress, 
jewels, and ornaments, at best, perish with the using. 

Mothers, do you reflect on the moral influence you possess over 
your daughters, and that you will be held accountable for the manner 
in which you use this gift ? Bury not, I beseech you, your Lord's 
money ; but put it out to usury, and you will obtain all the usury — 
and the principal — in obedient, amiable, and pious daughters. I am 
aware that yours is often a difficult duty, requiring constant care and 
unremitting watching, and that you need all the helps that can be 
given you. Take the Bible for your guide, and humbly look to God 
for help, and persevere "in all long suff"ering," enforcing obedience 
by gentleness, governing by kindness, remembering that your daugh- 
ters are rational beings. Early inculcate on their minds the glorious 
truths and principles of the Gospel of our blessed Redeemer. Learn 
them that virtue and modesty are the cardinal ornaments of the 
female character. And if in your power, give them a solidy thorough^ 
and complete moral and intellectual education. 



376 MY ANGEL MOTHER. 



MY ANGEL MOTHER. 

The moral influence of the good is perpetuated by Biographical 
sketches and Obituary notices, else to name the worth of departed 
saints through the medium of the pen would be no virtue. And 
who can estimate the vast influence of the memoirs of Dr. Payson 
and Ann H. Judson. The increase of piety, and the good princi- 
ples that have been implanted in the minds of the young by the 
perusal of these two books, the judgment day alone can reveal. 
Even so has the obituary notice of some obscure saint had a con- 
trolling influence. 

My precious mother recently bade adieu to earth, and has entered 
her eternal home above, and, notwithstanding she was a stranger to 
the great majority who will read this, a brief sketch of her 
life, I trust, will be perused with profit. 

The home of Sarah Wilcox was Granby, Conn. Meekness, sim- 
plicity of manners, blended with uncommon energy, and kindness of 
heart, (the essential ingredients of perfection of character,) were in 
childhood, as in after life, her prominent traits. JFrom time to time 
she was subject to serious impressions ; but so sweet to her were the 
pleasures and gaiety of childhood and youth, that the Spirit's influ- 
ence was twice withdrawn successively ; but God in great mercy left 
her not, and she became a true and decided Christian, openly pro- 
fessing Christ, which profession she ever adorned ; pure evangelical 
piety was manifest, and characterized her deportment through life. 

Some two or three years after her marriage she became " a pioneer 
mother" to the far west, now the Sciota section of Ohio, then a wild, 
uncivilized country; yet not like Mrs. Lemen, (mentioned in ano- 
ther page,) to enjoy years of domestic life ; but in a few weeks to 
receive the chastening rod of her Heavenly Father. Having se- 
lected what seemed to them a luxuriant soil, her husband, child, 
and herself were seized with sickness, without a friend to afl*ord aid 
or pity. She saw her lifeless husband carried from her humble 
dwelling, and knew, that sick as she was, unless she made an eftbrt 
to remove, her little daughter would be left alone with strangei^. 
No stage, canal, or railroad, was then at hand for the accommoda- 



MY ANGEL MOTHER. 377 



tion of travelers — no better conve3^ance than a lumber-box wagon, 
drawn by a span of horses. Her first and only effort could be, to 
hire a man to drive her back to her native town. Unfortunately she 
was surrounded only by those on whom the Gospel had never shed 
its rays. At an exorbitant price a driver was procured, who having 
proceeded a few miles with his sick charge, and while they were 
resting at an inn, robbed her of a large amount of her money, and 
was no more seen. Under such circumstances, wretched indeed 
would be the situation of a woman even in health — but add to this 
the torturing influence of sickness ; yet, while a mother's tender eye was 
constantly watching her child of two years pining away with disease, 
suffering with ague-fever, and entirely unassisted, she drove her 
team over hills, and through dales, back to Connecticut. (Excursions 
to Ohio in 1812 and 1853, are very unlike.) 

The following year Mr. M., of Lewis Co., N. Y., being an emi- 
grant to that new country, made proposals of marriage to her, and she 
became his wife. There she endured the toils and hardships incidental 
to a new settlement. She had much to do with the " old-fashioned 
piano, and the big house organ;" their music was heard until a late 
hour of the night, and not her own family alone enjoyed its benefits. 
Her children have preserved a large store of " sheeting, kersey, birds- 
eye," and other varieties, in memory of those days and their precious 
manufacturer ; who has now gone from her unparalleled labors for 
her family and the poor, to enjoy her rest in Heaven. 

The design of J. M. P., in writing the Pioner Mother, was evi- 
dently to illustrate to us what our fathers and mothers have endured, 
that we might enjoy our present wealth and prosperous revenues, 
political, social, intellectual and religious. A lesson that needs to 
be often rehearsed to many of the effeminate youth of this golden 
age. Our children should be familiar with the history of the past, 
and realize that the change wliich fifty years has produced in our 
country, has not come by chance ; but by the prayers, the toil, and 
sweat of our fathers and mothers, whose names we should honor. 

S. M. B. 



378 HOW WE KNOW AN ANIMAL FROM A VEGETABLE. 



HOW WE KNOW AN ANIMAL FROM A VEGETABLE. 

Ion. I know an Animal from a Vegetable now, mamma — because 
it has only one mouth, and it has two organs more than a Vegetable. 

It has one mouth, the organ for procuring its food ; 

A stomach, the organ for preparing its food ; and 

A heart, the organ for circulating iX% food, when it has been made 
into blood. 

M. Then let us look for the next difference. Animals, you know, 
can move about on the earth. Most of them are very fond of mo- 
tion — they will often creep, or run, or fly, or swim for a long time, 
without feeling tired ; so that they are constantly exercising their 
bodies. Now, when a carpenter is constantly using his tools — exer- 
cising them — what will happen ? 

Ion. They will wear out. 

M. So will " organs" wear out, in time. You are constantly 
moving about, Ion, and exercising the organs of your body, so it 
wears out, and wastes away. Now, why is it that your blood, in- 
stead of just going '' up and down," like the trees' sap, is circulated 
by your heart through every little corner of your body ? 

W. Oh, I see, mamma ! To 7nend it where it is wasted, that is, 
to make new flesh — "keep it in repair" — that's what I mean. 

Ion. But the old particles of flesh, which are wasted ; how are 
they carried away from my body ? 

M. This is also done by your blood, partly. I must tell you. 
Last week, when you ran all the way home from school, you exer- 
cised your body too much. Then your heart beat very fast, and the 
blood circulated too quickly. 

Ion. Yes, I felt my heart beating. 

M. And ^vhen your blood circulated quickly, the "waste" was 
carried away quickly. I saw some of it coming away in a liquid 
state. It came in little drops through the pores of your skin. Some 
of them trickled down your forehead, and we called them " perspi- 
ration." But some of this waste came from your body in a different 
manner. I saw some particles coming away in a Jhiid state. You 
opened your mouth, and it came out so quickly that you could hardly 
speak. 



HOW WE KNOW AN ANIMAL FROM A VEGETABLE. 870 

Ion. That was my breath coming out of my mouth ! But, uumi- 
ma, I thought that breath was made of air. 

M. Not entirely. Breath consists of particles of the air, and 
particles of the waste of your body mixed together. 

I think you can easily understand how it is made. You see this 
dark vein in 3^our arm ? It has a dark look because it contains 
blood which is nearly black. 

L. I thought that blood was always red, mamma — what makes it 
black ? 

M. It has this dark color because it is full of particles of the 
" waste" which it has collected from your body. It will flow on 
through many other veins, until it reaches your heart. Your heart 
will then pump it into another organ, where it will meet with the 
air which is flowing down your windpipe. As soon as this air gets 
down to the black blood in this organ, it makes it clean and red 
again. 

This is done by carrying away all the waste from it. Some of the 
particles of the air mix with the dark particles of the waste, and 
make breath, as I told you. 

Ion. Thank you, mamma ! Now I know what breath is made of 
— but what is the name of that organ where the air meets with the 
black blood ? 

M. It is called '■'the Lungs.'' 

W. But the plants, mamma ! They do not want any lungs, be- 
cause they have not any waste, I suppose. They do not go out for 
a walk, or take exercise. 

M. The leaves of plants are something like lungs. Their sap is 
thin like water, when it goes up to the leaves; but these leaves ex- 
pose it to the air, and it is thus altered ; for when it comes down 
the tree, it is much thicker. 

L. Then that will make another difference. 

4th difference. — Most Animals have organs for 'purifying the 
blood, called Lungs. 

Vegetables have not — but they have organs something like lungs, 
called Leaves. 

M. We will now find another difference. Come here, Willie, and 
let me pinch you ! 

W. Oh ! mamma. I'd rather not, thank you ! I'll pinch my- 
self — there ! 



380 HOW WE KNOW AN ANIMAL FROM A VEGETABLE. 



M. Well, what has happened, Will 



W. It happened that there was a pain — a sharp feeling, just here 
— in my arm. 

M. Now, take the edge of your thumb nail, and pinch it. Now 
pinch some of the hairs in your head ! There was no pain then, 
I'm sure. Why is it that there is no pain in those parts as well as 
your arm ? 

W. I don't know, mamma. Please tell me ! 

L, Well, underneath the skin of your arm, and in nearly all parts 
of your body, there are thousands of very fine threads, which are 
like a beautiful network. These threads are called Nerves, and, di- 
rectly you touch a nerve, you feel a pain, or, as we call it, a sensa- 
tion. You cannot, however, find any nerve in your nails, or in the 
hair of your head, except at the roots. 

W. Then, that is the reason why we do not feel any pain ! But 
we do feel a pain when we pull out hairs from our heads by their 
roots. 

M. Some of your organs have curious nerves. One organ has 
nerves which can feel smells, or perceive smells, we say. 

W. That is my nose — but do those nerves feel the smell them- 
selves ? I thought that I always smelt the flowers myself ! 

M. That is right, Willie. You use these nerves, and they con- 
vey the smell to you. 

W. Do they bring it to me, mamma ? Then, where am I ? 

M. That I will tell you in our next lesson. We are learning 
about Ne7'ves now. Another organ has nerves which can convey 
sounds. 

Another organ — your tongue, has nerves, which you use to per- 
ceive tastes. Your eye has different nerves, which perceives the 
colors of things — their shape and size. These organs, with pecu- 
liar nerves, you know, are called Senses. We shall learn more 
about them another time. 

Ion. But Vegetables have not any nerves, or any senses ; so that 
will make another difference. 

5th difference. — Animals can feel, for they have nerves, some of 
which form organs called the Senses, but 

Vegetables cannot feel, and have not any nerves. 

Pleasant Pages. 



NURSERY DAGUERREOTYPES. 381 

NURSERY DAGUERREOTYPES. 

Taken from Life. 
BY MRS. EMILY JUDSON. 

Milk-white, blue-eyed, gentle Bella, 

Her slight figure stooping over, 
Lifts her tiny mock umbrella, 

From mock storms her head to cover — 
Sweet, fair, fragile, lily-Bella. 

Henry, Henny, Hank, or Harry, 

With a manly boast and swagger, 
Brave as some small, trowsered fairy, 

Flourishes his whale-bone dagger — 
Sturdy, sterling. Captain Harry, 

Soft-cheeked, pearly Mary-baby, 

With her rattle slantwise swerving, 
Hums and flutters like a May-bee, 

Luscious smiles her red lips curving — 
Witching, winsome, love-eyed baby. 

'Mid them struts a five-year woman, • 

Full of wise importance, very, 
And deep love for all that's human 

Couched beneath her eye-lids merry — 
Grave, glad Emmy — child and woman. 

Look upon the picture, Anna, 

Catch it quick, the lines are fleeting ; 
Look and guess the honey'd manna. 

That keeps mothers' hearts a-beating— 
Mothers, are God's angels, Anna; 

Sent to fashion heirs of glory, 

Bearing on their balmy bosoms, 
Through our wilds so grim and hoary. 

These immortal human blossoms — 
Mother-life is woman's glory. 



382 STEP-MOTHERS. 



STEP-MOTHERS. 

This subject is one of vast importance, and challenges far more 
attention and sympathy than is usually bestowed upon it. As it is 
one properly belonging to the domestic circle, we ask the attention 
of our readers to a few thoughts upon it. 

With very many, a step-mother is regarded as a kind of monster 
in human shape, devoid of even the common feelings of humanity; 
one who ruthlessly crowds herself into the sacred enclosure of a 
family, to do sacrilege to the tenderest ties, and whose presence is 
more to be dreaded than that of the grim messenger, who caused the 
vacancy there which she enters to occupy. With such, the name of 
step-mother always means cold and heartless neglect, if not severe 
cruelty ; and how often it is said even by otherwise kind and judi- 
cious persons, in reply to some tale of the unkindness and indifference 
of such an individual, "it is no more than may be expected from 
step-mothers." Others consider them as a kind of necessary evil, or 
at best as an expedient introduced into a desolate family, which may 
mechanically perform the offices of wife and mother if carefully 
watched and guarded ; but to possess the warm affections which prompt 
to their spontaneous performance, she cannot. 

With views like these how often is the tender mother distressed at 
the thought of leaving her babes to such a dark uncertain fate ; and 
in near prospect of death the idea that they may be subjected to the 
control of a step-mother causes her a more severe struggle of feeling 
than anything else. Such sentiments are instilled into the minds of 
children, which grow with their growth, and strengthen with their 
strength, that if ever brought into this relation, their strong prejudices 
and excited imaginations prepare them to construe every action, and 
consider every reproof and restraint of her who occupies the mother's 
place, as so many cruelties giving additional reasons why they should 
not love or respect her. That there are some who fully bear the 
cliaracter thus ascribed to them we do not deny; but they are as 
unworthy the name, as the position they have assumed. A family 
bereft of the mother is an object of pity, and she who consents to 
become the wlfe^ docs violence to the most tender relations and sacred 
obligations, if she refuses as completely to take the place of the mother. 



STEP-MOTHERS. 3c3 



The children may be bad — may be unlovely and uninteresting, but 
if she is not prepared to take them by the hand — yes, to take them 
to her bosom, to bear with their faults, while she endeavors with 
parental kindness and faithfulness to overcome them, let her never 
consent to take the station. She takes thorns in her bosom, which 
while goading her own flesh, she scatters in the pathway of others. 
" A house divided against itself cannot stand." To take the place of 
wife and mother in a family which death has bereft of so bright a trea- 
sure, is no light thing. There are double responsibilities resting on 
such, and they cannot be thrown aside at will. The assurance from the 
father that she need not be troubled with the children, or her own 
assertion that she will not be accountable for their management, does 
not relieve her in the least from the duty. As she voluntarily takes 
the place which was wont to be occupied by another, she not only 
claims all its privileges, but endorses all its obligations, for which 
Heaven will hold her accountable. And if departed spirits do take 
cognizance of things on earth, what can be an object of more intense 
interest to the mother than her children ; and who that has any sen- 
sibility can think that perhaps the spirit of her who so late was the 
wife and mother is looking on the scene, and yet spurn from her 
heart any of that precious charge, or fail to do all in her power for 
their best good ? 

There is still another class who laud her as a good step-mother 
who treats her children with great tenderness, who imposes upon 
them no restraint, and allows them every indulgence they ask. 
Hence this is considered as the point of perfection by many occupy- 
ing that relation ; they think this the most peaceable course, and 
that in no other way can they insure the love of the children, and 
the confidence of their friends. How often is the remark made 
by such mothers, " if Henry were my own child, I should not allow 
him to do such and such things," or, "if Mary were my own 
daughter I should restrain her more, but it will not answer for me to 
do so now." But is not such a course quite as hazardous to the last- 
ing happiness of the family, and to their final good, as the other ? 

Again, step-mothers are regarded by i^iany with benignity, and 
permitted to pursue their way without suspicion, if they have no 
children of their otvti, but. the introduction of the own child, is re- 
garded as the casting out from afiection and sympathy of all the rest. 
Jut this cannot be the case where the relation has been formed 



384 STEP-MOTHERS. 



and sustained from right motives and feelings. And we contend that 
not till then is the step-mother fully prepared to perform her duty to 
the others in a proper manner. Not till then has the fountain of a 
mother's love been stirred ; not till then does she know its depth and 
tenderness. We do not respond to the sentiment we have so many 
times heard fall from the lips of step and foster-parents, that they 
know no difference between such children and their own. We feel 
that such individuals have never analyzed or tested their feelings : 
for if so, where is the peculiarity of the mother's love ? They may 
love as much, but from a different cause. As such a mother looks 
upon the child she bore, and her heart yearns for his happiness 
and well-being, she fully realizes how another felt for those whose 
care she has assumed ; and how can she trifle with such a solemn 
trust ! How can she treat with unkindness those dependent beings 
whom she has received as from the hand of death ? Or how can she 
allow them to commit sin and bring upon themselves disgrace and de- 
struction ? No, if she has the heart of a mother she cannot. Though 
a different chord may vibrate at sight of the two, yet her compassion 
and sense of accountability will prompt the same tones of gentle- 
ness and love. She will guard with the same vigilance, control with 
the same firmness, and watch over both with the same untiring faith- 
fulness. What if her motives are sometimes impugned and her 
kindness ill-requited, let her persevere in the performance of right, 
and she shall not labor in vain. 

The step-mother who does this, is not performing a thankless task, 
for she dispels the dark shades which death left in his track. She 
fills the void which he left desolate, not as a rival, but a comforter. 
She is made in a peculiar manner a blessing ; and as she makes the 
home of the bereaved family smile once more, — as she takes the 
motherless children to her bosom, who have been scattered among 
strangers, and bids them confide in her, and rejoice again in a 
mother's love — as she soothes their sorrows, and restrains their way- 
wardness, may she not feel that it is a privilege to be made the 
means of conferring so much happiness ? 

Popular opinion almost .enshrines those who for a stipulated reward 
assume the care of orphans : and shall we withhold our admiration, 
our praise, or regard with jealous eyes those, who will link their des- 
tiny for life with such ? — who take upon them cheerfully the anxious 
cires, the wakeful watchings, and weighty responsibilities of mother- 
orphans ? 



STEP-MOTHERS. 385 



We might argue the value of this relation, and the respect and 
kind regard due to it, from the Providential demand made for it by 
the removal of so many wives and mothers by death. What would 
become of the thousands and thousands of motherless children, if 
no loving arms were thrown around them — if no kind voice ever 
again answered to that sweet word, Mother ? If they could never 
again find a mother's heart, into which they could pour all their sor- 
rows, sure of true sympathy and comfort? or a mother's ear to 
which they could tell all their griefs and fears, sure of the cheering 
smile? never again find a mother's bosom on which to repose the 
aching head and feel the balm of love dispelling pain ? And how 
cheerless would be the home from which its light had been so myste- 
riously taken. The father might be spared to bless it at intervals 
with his presence ; yet after his daily toils and struggles with a cold 
heartless world, as he returns to his sanctuary of lovCy and no fond 
smiles or cheering words greet him but those of his motherless babes, 
a pang of desolation seizes his heart, and lonely echoes answer " deso- 
lation !" Perhaps only the hands of hirelings minister to the wants of 
his children, while they and his once gladsome dwelling bear sad 
marks of neglect. Their buoyant natures are soured by unkindness, 
or warped by mistaken indulgence, and he feels that none, 

— "upon their tender hearts, 
Can Uke a mother write :" 

no hand but hers 

" Can touch the springs that rule the soul." 

Is it then the dictate of compassion or justice, to brand that father 
as a heartless man, who seeks to alleviate his cares and sorrows, and 
bless his children with one to fill the place of her who was taken 
from them — as having forgotten her to whom he first pledged his 
love, and as doing violence to the vows he then made. 

That there are bad step-mothers we do not deny, and there are 
many bad mothers too. But in propoition as the position of the 
mother is respected, and its importance and relative bearings upon 
the future understood, may we not expect that number to lessen ? 
Let the relation of step-mothers be sustained by those fully qualified 
to discharge its duties, and honored by the respect and gratitude 
of all who in any way are made the recipients of its benefits. And 
shall we not have abundant cause to regard those as benefactors who 
consent to assume its responsibilities ? 

25 Mrq. M. G. Clarke. 



886 



PRECIOUS MEMOEIES. 




PRECIOUS MEMORIES. 



"Friend after friend departs," and, as we advance along the 
pathway of life we find the work of review increasing on our hands, 
and that of anticipation — as regards this life — lessening. Those 
who were lately by our side, and with whom all the tender associa- 
tions of life were closely entwined, have departed to another world, 
our minds follow them, but, vainly struggling to conceive their mode 
of existence, and the deta'il of their employments, we fall back on 
that which comes within the range of our capacities — the memory 
of the past. What a privilege then to be able to recall, and hold iii 
fond review the whole course of a lovely, disinterested Christian 
life. How precious to be able to exclaim with reference to our own 
dear departed ones, " I thank my God upon every remembrance of 
you." Such a privilege is the writer at this moment enjoying, and 



PRECIOUS MEMORIES. 387 

shall a mercy so signal call forth no expressions of gratitude ? Shall 
we be thankful for blessings only when in full possession of them ? 
A brother is called unexpectedly away from the midst of life and 
usefulness. The most tender ties of fiMal, conjugal, parental and 
fraternal love are suddenly rent asunder. But, for the departed we 
cannot mourn. We doubt not he is taken to the enjoyment of 
such bliss that the full consciousness that these ties, dear as they are, 
are forever broken, has not power to produce one sigh. This is the 
richest consolation. Yet our earthly nature mourns over the wreck 
of its hopes and joys. We pine for the voice, the smile, the love, 
the care and sweet companionship of the departed. Here let memory 
perform her grateful office. Let her recall, and count over her 
hoarded treasures. It is not merely while the miser sees, and handles 
his gold that he feels himself rich. His mind dwells on the garnered 
stores, and he reckons them his. So let us count the precious memo- 
ries of the past, and enjoy the wealth of these treasures. I look over 
the childhood of the departed, a period of which I could say to my 
brothers, 

Now is my little all of bliss 

In our blest circle found, 

And every halcyon day and hour 

With your bright presence crowned. 

and I see the gentle, unselfish boy, all love and mildness, and as 
memory brings back one incident after another, all is delightful to 
dwell upon. Those early years left no traces of sorrow on the 
brows of others ; as I review them I seem to be enjoying a pleasing 
dream, but, "It is not all a dream," for that childhood even left its 
influence on me, and the circle around me, and that is still a real and 
present blessing. I pass on to a youth without a blemish. A youth 
strongly marked by rectitude, frankness, and the exercise of disin- 
terested afi'ection, and before its freshness had passed away the 
grace of God had wrought effectually on that character, and all its 
lovely traits were consecrated to His service ; and now, what a pre- 
cious treasure is the memory of that period, and the subsequent 
years of humble devotedness to the religion of Jesus Christ ! How 
sweet to recall the daily life and mark the influence of grace in- 
wrought through all its texture ! Here we gather strength for our 
own remaining journey, and here we find the assurance that our 
dear one has gone to be with Jesus, for He said to those who love 



388 



THE BIBLE THE MOTHER'S STUDY 



him, and heep his commandments^ " I go to prepare a place for you, 
that where I am, there ye may be also." 

How blessed to trace the influence of such a character upon the 
world, and behold the wave which that influence set in motion widen- 
ing, and still to widen while time shall last. may these memorials 
"be ever fresh and fragrant," and instead of repining let us be 
grateful for the blessing we so long enjoyed, nay, still enjoy. Let 
us be grateful that the departed one was so soon fitted for that 
higher abode where all excellence is forever treasured. There, with 
perfected and enlarged capacities, he has commenced the duties of 
an immortal existence, loved and guided by the same infinite grace 
and wisdom which directed his pathway on earth. Into that blessed 
rest may we, too, enjoy an " abundant entrance," "through Him 
who hath loved us, and given himself for us." 



L. L. H. 



THE BIBLE THE MOTHER'S STUDY, 



It is a generally admitted truth, that the magnitude and respon- 
sibility of the mother's work can hardly be over-estimated. And 
none see this truth more clearly, or feel it more deeply, than the 
mother herself. She is fully prepared to admit all that can be urged, 
of the extent and power of her influence over her children; and 
is oftentimes painfully conscious of her own inadequacy to meet those 
duties, whose efiects are so far-reaching and momentous. 

With such convictions, many a mother has received her first-born, 
while trembling fears have mingled strangely with the new and 
thrilling sense of joy which that immortal gift awakened in her heart. 
Then, with an earnest spirit, she has consecrated herself to her new 
duties, and prayerfully sought guidance and strength from the Foun- 
tain of all wisdom. Years pass away, and other little ones are added 
to her family circle. Meanwhile she has endeavored to be constantly 
a learner in her new vocation. She has read, and observed, and re- 
flected. She has sought to derive profit by lessons of experience. 



THE BIBLE THE MOTHEE'S STUDY. 889 

She has striven to rule her own spirit, and in patience to possess her 
soul. But even such a mother, unless she be gifted with a peculiarly 
hopeful spirit, has her seasons of doubt and despondency in regard 
to the training of her children. There are times when all her wise 
theories elude her grasp, as she tries to bring them to a practical 
bearing, and when in her hours of retirement she contrasts her ideal 
of what her children should be with what they really are, she is some- 
times ready with a sinking spirit to exclaim, " Who is sufficient for 
these things?" 

To the mother who is thus conscientiously endeavoring to train 
her children, we would suggest a few thoughts upon the excellence 
and adaptedness of the Bible as her study. Not that we suppose she 
undervalues the teachings of the word of God, for we feel assured 
that she seeks to obey its precepts, and to strengthen her faith in its 
promises. But aside from the direct teachings of the scriptures, 
which so explicitly point out the duties of the parental relation, there 
are principles of government revealed therein, from which we may de- 
rive rich lessons of wisdom, and abundant matter for hopeful en- 
couragement. 

The principles to which we allude are those which are developed in 
the government of God, as He reveals Himself, the Father of His 
creatures. The first great principle which arrests our attention is 
that of absolute authority. This so evidently underlies the whole of 
the sacred word, forming the basis of its commands and warnings, 
its precepts and expostulations, that it is needless to cite particular 
passages as illustrations of so all-pervading a principle. • Whether 
God reveal His will by audible communications to the Hebrew law- 
givers, or by visions of the prophets, or by the inspiration of apostles, 
it is always the voice of a Sovereign, of one who has the independent 
and unlimited right to direct and control. And it always supposes 
on the part of the beings addressed, the duty of unhesitating and 
unqualified submission. This right to govern on the one hand, and 
duty of submission on the other, springs directly from the relation 
existing between the Creator and the creature. Now God has im- 
parted to the parent this right of sovereignty over the child. He 
places a being, ignorant, helpless, and dependent, in the hands of one, 
whom years and experience qualify to be its guide and director, and 
in the very nature of the relation, as well as by the direct teachings 
of revelation, invests the office of the parent with an absolute 



390 THE BIBLE THE MOTHER'S STUDY. 

authority. At the same time we notice how this authority is guarded 
from abuse, by implanting in the heart of the parent a deep and un- 
dying love for his offspring, and by making all its requirements sub- 
ject to the law of God. 

Now the mother who would train her children aright, must recog- 
nize as a fundamental principle of family government, her own 
authority. She must first and above all teach her children submis- 
sion. "But, ah!" says the mother, "notwithstanding all that has 
been said of the moulding power of maternal influence, I have learned 
that my children are not quite ' as clay in the hands of the potter.' 
They have an individuality, a will of their own ; and although the 
outward act of obedience be rendered, it is not always accompanied 
with any real internal submission of the will." It is unquestionably 
true, that while, from fear of punishment, or any other cause, the 
child may conform his actions to the wishes of the mother, his own 
will may be reigning in secret, chafing against its fetters, and long- 
ing to burst the restraints by which it is bound. He may submit, but 
it is as the serf submits to the tyrant, with a spirit burning to throw 
off his forced allegiance to the will of another. Now this is mani- 
festly not the kind of submission which the mother desires, and she 
is often perplexed and disheartened as she encounters the practical 
difficulty of influencing and truly governing a human will. 

But in this perplexity the word of God is "a light to her path." 
She may there learn that the submission which the Great Parent re- 
quires of His children is, that their wills shall be in harmony with 
His own ; and that the method he adopts to answer this obedience, 
is not to crush, nor break, nor destroy the action of the will, but in 
allowing the most perfect freedom of mental action to each individual. 
He requires that his deliberate choice shall be, to be guided by the 
will of God ; that whatever may be his personal inclinations, they 
shall be calmly surrendered, and he shall freely determine to do the 
will of his Father in heaven. This kind of submission plainly sup- 
poses that the person who exercises it, has his will under the control 
of other faculties of the mind. His judgment is so convinced of the 
wisdom of God's requirements, or his affections so enkindled by the 
proofs of His goodness, that it becomes his chief pleasure to subject 
himself to the direction of that Infinite Being, who, he is assured, will 
cause all things to work together for his good. 

Let the mother aim at this kind of submission in her child. Let 



THE BIBLE THE MOTHER'S STUDY. 391 

her remember that the will is not a principle to be broken and 
crushed, but a faculty to be trained ; and let her teach him to govern 
and control it, by bringing into exercise the judgment, the reason, 
and the affections. Let her not suppose that as her boy emerges 
from infancy to childhood, she can at any time displace the action of 
his will by the exercise of her own, but fully aware of the fact that 
this great mainspring of human action is daily strengthening, let her 
seek so to direct its exercise, that it may become a virtuous and 
healthy principle. Let her seek to assimilate his thoughts and de- 
sires to her own, so that his will may unconsciously act in harmony 
with hers ; and above all, let her strive to acquire and maintain that 
character which may inspire his confidence and love. With all this, 
the dignity of the mother's authority must ever be upheld. Instances 
will doubtless occur, where she will fail of securing this ready sub- 
mission, which she must then enforce by her authority, for though 
obedience be but external, it is far better than open disobedience. 

This manner of training the will is not a speedy, nor an easy 
work ; but if begun early, it will become more and more practicable 
as years advance ; and in its blessed fruits will amply repay the toil 
it may cost. And to the mother it is an encouraging thought, that 
although the process of laying the foundations of character be slow 
and toilsome, yet the superstructure may yet prove her " work of 
what sort it is." The future life of her child shall declare it, when his 
energetic and well-governed character shall make him an ornament 
and a blessing; when the submission which in childhood he rendered 
to the mother's authority becomes transferred to a higher power, and 
the will of the strong man is subject to the will of God. 

The Bible also reveals the ]princi])le of trial as entering largely into 
the economy of God's government. It is the application of this 
principle in individual instances, as recorded in the scriptures, that 
we would here notice, as furnishing a lesson of great importance in 
family government. The trial of Abraham in the offering up of 
Isaac, presents the strongest test, and the most illustrious triumph of 
faith and obedience that the world has ever seen ; yet in its contem- 
plation we would not forget the long years of trial that preceded it. 
The call to go into a strange coiyitry, " not knowing whither he 
went ;" the promise that this should be for an everlasting inheritance, 
when after long dwelling therein he had not so much as a burial place 
for his dead ; the assurance that his posterity should be as the sands 



392 THE BIBLE THE MOTHEE'S STUDY. 

upon the sea-sliore, when there was no human probability that he 
should ever embrace a son ; how searching must have been the test, 
how constant and protracted the trial of believing such promises, and 
obeying such commands. Yet if God had revealed the future to 
Abraham, as it now lays outspread before us in the wondrous past ; 
if He had condescended to explain all that was seemingly strange 
and inconsistent, where would have been the merit of obedience ? 
How clearly was it the design of God that his character should be 
tried, that it should be subjected to the most rigid tests of time and 
circumstance. And it was through the perfecting influence of those 
long years of trial, that that crowning act of obedience was ren- 
dered, which has made Mount Moriah a beacon-light to all succeeding 
ages. 

The career of Joseph likewise presents illustrations of the same 
principle. Exposed during childhood and early youth to the envy 
and hatred of those from whom he might naturally expect sympathy 
and love ; sold as a slave ; sent forth as a homeless Avanderer from a 
father, to whom, as the whole history reveals, his heart ever clung 
with deepest affection ; and more than all, imprisoned on the charge 
of a crime, from which his whole nature recoiled in utter detestation 
and horror, how must the soul of the young Hebrew have been tried 
within him. And from these trials he came forth with a character 
fitted to become the ruler of a mighty nation, and the preserver of 
God's chosen people. 

The early life of David was also fraught with trials. The young 
shepherd whose spirit had melted beneath the entrancing strains of 
his own harp, upon the lonely plains of Bethlehem, became "the 
Lord's anointed," as chosen king of the Hebrews, and henceforth an 
object of the jealousy and hatred of Saul. How were his trials 
multiplied and perpetuated during his long years of wandering, when 
his life was untiringly sought by his insatiate enemy. "What deep 
waters must have passed over his soul in the wilderness of Ziph, the 
cave of Adullam, and the strong holds of Engedi. Yet here were 
matured that strong faith and confidence, which inspired the exulting 
strains, " In God is my salvation and my glory, the rock of my 
strength and my refuge is in Gad." 

Instances of like nature abound in the scriptures, whose careful 
study will clearly show, how the principle of trial was used as a 
means of strengthening and perfecting those characters which have 



THE BIBLE THE MOTHER'S STUDY. 393 

been models to all succeeding generations. And the practical lesson 
which the mother may derive from this study, is, that this very ele- 
ment of trial must not be rejected in the education of her children. 
Let her not feel that the path of obedience must always be made per- 
fectly plain and inviting, nor hold herself responsible to render the 
reasons of her requirements. Her directions may often appear harsh 
and unreasonable to her inexperienced child, and with tears and en- 
treaties he may beg for the repeal. But let not the mother, sym- 
pathizing in his disappointment, retract her decisions. This very 
disappointment is necessary for the perfect formation of his charac- 
ter. Entering, as he is, upon a life abounding with trials, "it is good 
for him to bear the yoke in his youth." Not that we would deter 
the mother from seeking the happiness of her children, for we believe 
this should be her unwearied aim, and as a means of securing their 
permanent happiness, we would urge the adoption of a wholesome dis- 
cipline, necessarily involving trial and disappointment. The troubles 
of childhood are trifles to the mature, but not the less essentially 
trials to the child. They move the spirit as deeply, and test it as 
rigidly as do the stirring scenes of life's great drama in after years. 
The mother's work is not to remove these trials from her child, even 
were it possible. Her tenderness and love will strongly impel her to 
smooth every roughness from his path, and shield him from every 
temptation and danger. But here her reason and judgment, taught 
by the unerring word of God, must rule over her affections. She 
must teach him to endure disappointment ; to resist temptation ; to 
conquer difiiculty ; to bear trouble. This will require on her part, 
a firmness of purpose, a strength of spirit, that must be obtained by 
help from on high. But let her not be disheartened. If she fulfil 
her high trust, guided by the sure principles of revealed truth, she 
shall yet rejoice in her labor. She shall see the son of her love rise 
to manhood, armed with the most fitting panoply for life's great con- 
flict, and the daughter of her bosom come forth to woman's sacred 
mission as gold well refined, repelling all tarnish from the unholy, 
while ever reflecting the beautiful and true, and hiding an armory 
of spiritual strength, beneath " the ornament of a meek and quiet 
spirit." 

Mrs. M. T. Eichakds. 



394 THE BIBLE THE MOTHER'S RULE. 



THE BIBLE THE MOTHER'S RULE, 



PRINCIPLES OF GOVERNMENT. 



The principle of rewards and punishments is also a prominent 
feature in the government of God. The common truth, that virtue 
brings its own reward, and vice its own punishment, is most clearly 
exemplified in the lives of all whose history is recorded in the Scrip- 
tures. But God does not leave his children to make out this great 
truth in their own experience, without extending to them, from time 
to time, certain helps which may enable them to walk in the path 
of righteousness. These helps consist of rewards and punishments, 
directly and specifically following efforts of virtue and piety, or acts 
of disobedience and sin. When the pious Hannah offered up the 
son of her vows, to the service of the Lord, He graciously acknow- 
ledged the sacrifice. He had respect to the tenderness of a mother's 
love, who put her weaned child from her bosom, that he might be- 
come a servant in the temple of God. He witnessed the deep yearn- 
ings of her heart, as from time to time her fingers wrought " the 
little coat" for her absent one, and when she brought her yearly 
gift, and gazed upon her boy in his bright and beautiful childhood. 
He knew the struggle it cost her to return to her desolate home, 
leaving behind her first-born, her only one. And because of this 
triumph of devotion to Him, over the strong pleadings of a mother's 
heart, because of her inviolate performance of her sacred vows, 
" God remembered Hannah," and again and again gladdened her 
heart by the smiles of infancy, until her soul thrilled to the words, 
*' my mother," from the lips of two sons and three daughters. 



THE BIBLE THE MOTHER S RULE. 



The thoughtful attention which the Shunamite woman bestowed upon 
Elisha, likewise received its specific reward. Her position was mani- 
festly one of wealth and influence, yet her arrangements for the 
accommodation of the homeless prophet, were meekly and unostenta- 
tiously made, evidently springing from a desire to serve him because 
he was a servant of God. And it was this motive that rendered her 
conduct approved by Him, who counteth the honor done unto hi? 
faithful servant, as done unto himself. "Behold thou hast been 
careful for us with all this care," said Elisha, "what is to be done 
for thee?" and according to the promise of the Lord by his prophet, 
in due time she folded to her heart the immortal gift she had most 
earnestly coveted. The piety of Ruth in leaving the land of her 
nativity and casting her lot with the chosen people of God, was 
eminently rewarded in her whole subsequent history. The moral cou- 
rage of Esther in identifying herself with her doomed and persecuted 
people, and her fastings and prayers for their deliverance, were gra- 
ciously rewarded by her being made the instrument of their safety 
and protection. The inflexible integrity of Daniel, in stedfastly 
disregarding an unrighteous decree, and the firm resolution of his 
three companions in captivity, not to join in idol worship, were 
rewarded by the miraculous interposition of God in their behalf. 
And the spirit of penitence and devotion manifested by the erring 
one who brought her simple ofiering to the feet of her Saviour, was 
not left unrewarded. As, bowing low before Him, she heard the 
reproaches and aspersions of those about her, while falling tears 
mingled fast with the fragrant ointment which she poured upon his 
feet, how must her soul have melted in gratitude and love, as she 
heard his gracious words. " Wherever this gospel shall be preached 
in the whole world, there shall also this that this woman hath done, 
be told for a memorial of her." 

How direct also was the punishment of the denying disciple, when 
after his thrice repeated sin, " The Lord turned and looked upon 
Peter." That look, awakening at once the emotions of love, self- 
abasement, contrition, and remorse, so overwhelmed him in sorrow, 
that the heart-stricken man went out and wept bitterly. Gehazi, for the 
sin of deception, went out from the presence of Elisha, "a leper as 
white as snow." And Moses, who with so meek and long sufi'ering a 
spirit, had guided the rebellious and murmuring Israelites, through 
their forty years' pilgrimage, became angry at the waters of Meribah. 



896 THE BIBLE THE MOTHER'S RULE. 

The punishment followed the offence. He stood upon Pisgah, and 
gazed upon the glorious land of promise, knowing that for his sin his 
feet were for ever forbidden to press those bright fields, whither his 
steps had been so long tending. 

Illustrations of this principle, as exercised in the government of 
God, might be indefinitely multiplied. And in the administration 
of family government, which is more essentially than any other 
like the divine, the same principle should be adopted. It should be 
observed, however, that in speaking of rewards in the family, we 
do not refer exclusively to the frequent bestowal of gifts, or the pro- 
viding of different species of entertainment. These are well, with 
proper restrictions, and the mother who seeks the happiness of her 
children, will be delighted at times thus to contribute to their enjoy- 
ment. But there is a reward, more precious to the heart of child- 
hood than the costliest gift, or the brightest gala-day; it is the 
warm expression of a parent's approbation. Every effort of virtu- 
ous principle, every struggle to resist temptation, every brave endu- 
rance of disappointment or pain, every exercise of unselfish feeling, 
should meet with this reward. To the strong man, firm in the inde- 
pendence of his own spirit, virtue may bring its own sufficient recom- 
pense. But it is far otherwise with children. Their characters are 
unformed, clinging, and dependent. Their efforts to do right, often 
in opposition to the strong impulses and ardent feelings of childhood, 
need a helping hand, and nothing, short of the grace of God, can 
be so strong and enduring a help in these efforts as a mother's ap- 
proval. Children, especially of a modest and retiring disposition, 
need this influence. There are some, and we think their number not 
so rare as is often supposed, to whom approval and love is as their 
necessary food. Yet often, modest in the extreme, they do not deem 
themselves worthy of the boon which their spirits so earnestly crave, 
and so sensitive, that even when conscious of deserved reward, they 
shrinkingly lock up every manifestation of feeling in a seemingly 
cold and passionless reserve. In this hungering and thirsting of 
spirit, they pine and languish, their characters are misappreciated, 
their efforts misinterpreted and blamed. They are pronounced incor- 
rigibly dull, and coldly unsusceptible. As years advance, they may, 
in a degree, emerge from this restraint and obscurity, but if, as is 
often the case, this sensitiveness of spirit be accompanied by a frail 
physical constitution, its possessor goes early to that blessed home, 



THE BIBLE THE MOTHER'S RULE. 397 

where at length the unutterable longings of the spirit are satisfied 
in fullness of love and bliss. But under the influence of reward, 
the reward of approbation and sympathy, more precious than any 
other, these very characters would fast expand into conscious vigor, 
strength, and joy. 

It is, therefore, of paramount importance that every mother should 
diligently study the individual character of her children, to ascer- 
tain what are the incentives and supports which each requires. 
Those of the temperament we have described, manifestly need the 
genial influence of reward, more than those of a fearless and self- 
relying character. But we believe it to be both beneficial and 
necessary to all. It is easy, likewise, by judiciously discriminating 
between different actions in their nature and source, to guard the 
child against the danger of supposing that he is to do right merely 
for the sake of reward. And for this reason we think that gifts 
ought never to be bestowed for the performance of moral actions. 
We would not give a child a book or toy, because he refrained 
from a falsehood, or refused a tempting but forbidden gratification, 
but we would most warmly express our deep sympathy and delighted 
approbation for his effort. This would strengthen the virtuous prin- 
ciple within him, and enable him more easily to do right in future. 
On the other hand, for actions not strictly moral in their nature, 
tangible rewards may sometimes be given with good effect. A 
coveted gift may be promised to a girl habitually careless, for strictly 
attending to a certain assigned care of her clothes for a stated 
length of time, or to a boy proverbially tardy, for a like unfailing 
conformity to appointed hours, and by thus combining a pleasant 
association with the performance of a disagreeable duty, the requisite 
habit of order or punctuality may be established. 

But with regard to punishments, the converse of this distinction 
should be observed. For though moral virtues should receive no 
tangible reward, moral delinquencies should be followed by a signal 
and decided punishment. And the more trivial faults of habit, as care- 
lessness, indolence, or want of punctuality, though they require the 
constant watchcare of the mother in their correction, should not be 
punished as at all on a par with strictly moral failings, as such pun- 
ishment tends to confound in the mind of the child the grand dis- 
tinction between right and wrong, and moreover is decidedly unjust. 
It should ever be an axiom with the mother, that punishment should 



308 THE BIBLE THE MOTHER'S RULE. 

be apportioned as strictly as possible to the moral quality of the 
action, which always lies in the intention. With this a first prin- 
ciple in her family government, she will not be led astray by excited 
feelings, to inflict punishment for errors resulting from carelessness 
or forgetfulness, which would be overlooked in any but a child, or 
what is worse still, but we fear sometimes the case, for occurrences 
of the purest accident. 

There is probably no duty which the mother is called to perform, 
so trying to her feelings, as the infliction of punishment. And 
many a one, shrinking from the duty, when the first grave offence 
of her child demanded it at her hands, has multiplied tenfold its sub- 
sequent necessity. We have known cases, in which a signal punish- 
ment for a child's first falsehood, has been sufficient for a life time, 
and a character of beautiful veracity has been henceforth established. 
And instances will occur to every one, in which the omission of this 
punishment has perpetuated the sin of lying, till it became a settled 
habit, destroying all confidence in the character so ruinously neg- 
lected. It will greatly increase the moral power of punishment in 
any given instance, if the child can be made to feel and acknow- 
ledge its justice. The punishment of David for causing the death 
of Uriah presents a forcible illustration of this point. By the para- 
ble of the prophet his sin was pictured vividly before him, in its 
real deformity and guilt. He looked steadily at it, unveiled by the 
distorting mists of prejudice, unprotected by the invulnerable shield 
of selfishness. And when the prophet fastened the king's unquali- 
fied condemnation of so aggravated a crime, upon his own head, he 
had not a word to offer in extenuation or self-defence. The mother 
may often adopt this method of making her child perceive his guilt. 
Let him look at his sin as he would regard it in another, and she 
thus divests it of many of the excuses and palliations which his self- 
love has thrown around it. Let not then the mother, as she values 
the present and future welfare of her child, weakly shrink from this 
painful duty, but faithfully meet it when first ^demanded, and she 
may be assured that she will be called but seldom to its discharge, 
and if she be tempted to feel that one deliberate falsehood, in a child 
habitually truthful, may be passed by, or one act of wilful disobedi- 
ence, in a child usually docile, may be disregarded, let her remember 
Moses, who by his usually quiet and forbearing spirit, gained the 



THE BIBLE THE MOTHER'S RULE. 3P9 

appellation of the " meekest man," jet for one act of anger was for- 
bidden to enter the land of promise. 

There is yet one more principle developed in the divine govern- 
ment, which we briefly notice, as aiFording encouragement to the 
mother in her arduous work — it is that of long-suffering. Nu- 
merous scriptural illustrations of this truth will occur to every one, 
and we doubt not that every mother can find most forcible proofs 
of the long-suffering of her heavenly Father in her own experi- 
ence. If then God be not discouraged with her, shall she be dis- 
couraged with her children? Shall she despairingly say, "I have 
labored in vain, and spent my strength for naught," if ten, or 
fifteen, or even twenty years have passed, without accomplishing 
those results in her children which she would fain behold ? Nay, 
verily, let her still labor on with a long-sufi'ering spirit, even if she 
endure the grievous affliction of seeing her children walking openly 
in the paths of sin. Even in darkness, let her stay herself upon God, 
and trust that he will yet hear her prayers, behold her tears, and turn 
the hearts of her beloved ones, as the rivers of water are turned. 

We would also mention the love of God., not as a distinct princi- 
ple of his government, but as the spirit which pervades every prin- 
ciple, the light which makes all bright with glory and beauty. It 
is this which prompts the long-sufi'ering of the Lord, and dictates 
the warnings of punishment equally with the promises of reward. 
It lines with golden light every cloud of adversity and trial, and 
breathes its full, rich under tone, in every command of authority. 

So all pervading, all sustaining must be the mother's love, giving 
energy to every principle, and efficiency to every act of government. 
Like the ever-shining sun, it must still burn on, not only while her 
children, "walking in wisdom's ways," may rejoice in its beams, 
but when their errors and sins shall hide its light from their view, 
by the frown of deserved punishment, and the tears of disappoint- 
ment and sorrow. 

Mrs. M. T. Richards. 



THE BIBLE THE MOTHER'S STUDY. 400 



THE BIBLE FURNISHES THE MOTHER MATERIALS FOR 
INTELLECTUAL TRAINING. 

In our two preceding numbers, we have endeavored to show the 
excellence and adaptedness of the study of the Bible, as revealing a 
system of government which the mother may adopt as her model 
and guide. But her children are not only to be governed but in- 
structed. They are beings demanding intellectual training and reli- 
gious culture. In the latter of these great departments of her 
work, the Bible is, of course, her sole directory. In the former, 
though its assistance be more incidental in its nature, yet it is by 
no means to be overlooked or misappreciated. And it is because we 
intend in a subsequent article to notice the undeniable authority of 
the Bible with regard to religious training, that at present we feel 
justified in referring to it as a grand and most important auxiliary 
in the work of intellectual education. 

All who have had the care of children are aware that they early 
need some kind of mental aliment. Such knowledge as they may 
gain by the senses of the various objects by which they are sur- 
rounded, first supplies this necessity. But the human mind ever 
grasping even in earliest childhood soon requires more, and an ad- 
ditional supply is furnished by the act of vividly conceiving and 
revolving the various ideas and images it has previously treasured. 
Hence arises the delight of play. The little girl so intently en- 
gaged with her doll, is experiencing a delight purely mental. She 
moves in an entirely imaginary sphere, a little world of her own. She 
is busily conceiving and assuming the cares and anxieties of the 
mother, and at the same time transferring to her flaxen-haired trea- 
sure, the various peculiarities of childhood with a strength and vivid- 
ness which to her mind has all the charm of reality. The desire 
for stories which every mother knows is so universal and insatiable, 
springs from the same source. The pleasure which the child de- 
rives from these stories lies in the mental activity awakened by 
vividly conceiving of the subjects and events narrated to him. The 
imaginary " Ilcnry" or " WiHie," to whose sayings and doings he 
has so often been an eager listener, becomes a frequent companion 



THE BIBLE THE MOTHER'S STUDY. 401 

of his thoughts, the hero of a drama, whose shifting scenes are often 
busily enacted in his mind. It will be found that the conceptive 
faculty thus exercised, as says Isaac Taylor, is one that is earliest 
developed and is continually at work in childhood. With this, there- 
fore, lies the very commencement of the process of intellectual train- 
ing ; and the result to be secured, that of giving scope and vigor to 
its action, affects most materially and permanently the whole mental 
character. It is the work of the mother to supply the requisite 
material for the active and healthful exercise of the conceptive 
faculty. Her resources for this are abundant : descriptions of scenes 
or events which her child may or may not have witnessed ; sketches, 
even the rudest outlines of animals, trees, or any tangible object, 
and what is usually most called for, and most available, narrations 
of individual characters, known as " stories." Now it is here we 
would plead the excellence of the Bible, as affording to the mother 
an unfailing treasury, whence she may draw continually, without 
fear of exhausting her resources. It is true that the materials for 
stories are as multiplied and various as the scenes and incidents 
of every day life, but aside from all these, and above them all, are 
the tales which may be told from the Bible. There is in them a 
life, a truthfulness, a graphic power which will ever remain une- 
qualled. They pass before the child's mind as pictures of life and 
beauty, and leave their impress indelibly engraven thereon. Let the 
offering up of Isaac be narrated, and as the tale advances, the 
flushed cheek and mouth half-parted in suspense, the clasped hands 
as if in supplication, as the fatal blow is about to be struck, and 
the joy lighting up the countenance as the forbidding voice is heard 
from heaven, strongly testify how vividly the whole is conceived, 
how life-like is the scene transpiring before the mental vision. Tell 
of the shining ladder, with the angels of God ascending and de- 
scending upon it. Paint the scene where the sleeping babe lay 
cradled upon the banks of the Nile. Unroll the gorgeous panorama 
of the history of Joseph. Show the waters of the Red Sea form- 
ing a wall on the right hand and on the left ; the manna ; the flow- 
ing rock ; the burning quaking mount, with the Avhole multitude 
retreating in terror afar off, and Moses " drawing near unto the 
thick darkness where God was," and the mind of the child is fur- 
nished with subjects of conception and thought which could be 
derived from no other source. The marvellousness of the Scripture 

26 



402 THE BIBLE THE MOTHER'S STUDY. 

records casts its wondrous spell over his whole being, enchaining 
every faculty to their contemplation. His thoughts become accustomed 
to stretch beyond the line of his outward vision. His conceptions 
take hold on things untried and strange. And he is thus acquiring 
a breadth and amplitude of capacity which will yet stamp its decided 
impress upon his future mental character. Let the mother then be- 
come a diligent student of the Scriptures, that she may be " tho- 
roughly furnished" with Bible stories for the instruction of her 
child. The advantage she may thus impart to him will be three- 
fold : it will induce a mental activity, it will provide a select supply 
of intellectual furniture as it were, which the mind is storing for 
constant use, and it will give the renowned characters of sacred lore 
a hold upon his veneration and love, which the lapse of years shall 
rarely be able to displace. All this may be done for young chil- 
dren, but as they advance through the later periods of childhood to 
youth, the Bible may still be the mother's grand text-book in their 
instruction. 

A systematic and thorough study of the Bible, embracing so much 
of history, geography, and chronology as is necessary to elucidate 
its truths, will convey an extensive and available fund of knowledge. 
The ignorance of biblical history that prevails even among chil- 
dren of Christian parents, and members of the Sabbath School, is 
truly surprising. In a class of girls from ten to fourteen years of 
age, the miracle of the flowing rock was ascribed to Christ ; Moses 
was supposed to have lived after David, and Paul to have preached 
in the time of Isaiah. But these children were not uninformed 
upon other subjects. They could have rapidly given the long list 
of the kings of England in their order, and narrated correctly 
many great facts in the history of their native land. And we feai* 
that these may be taken as fair specimens of a large class of our 
children and youth. Detached portions of sacred truth they may 
gather at the Sabbath School, but as they have no systematized 
idea of Bible history by which these portions may be referred to the 
time and order of their occurrence, they remain in the mind in 
chaotic confusion, an inextricable labyrinth to many a poor child, 
who, old enough to blush for his ignorance, darkly and vainly en- 
deavors to grope his way for an answer to a simple question. And 
the cause of this ignorance is, that children are not taught the 
Bible at home. The Sabbath School, though a most valuable 



THE BIBLE THE MOTHER'S STUDY, 403 

auxiliary to parental instruction, can never supply its place. And 
we unhesitatingly say, that the children of those Christian parents, 
who are willing in any degree to transfer their responsibilities to the 
Sabbath School teacher, are losers rather than gainers by this insti- 
tution. Without it, they might have the benefits of religious and 
biblical instruction at home; with it, although they may enjoy 
the labors of the most pious and gifted teacher for a stated time 
every Sabbath, this cannot compensate for the loss of fireside train- 
ing, made deep and lasting by all the sacred associations of home, 
and ordained and blessed by the God of families. 

In this matter of Bible instruction, parents themselves are to be 
the teachers. The mother may commit her child to others in all 
matters of worldly science, but this is her untransferable province. 
And while she gratefully receives the aid of the Sabbath School 
teacher, and the assistance of Christian friends, she must never for- 
get that she is the principal teacher. It is a joy for a mother, upon 
whom rests all this responsibility, if it can be said of her, " From 
a child thou hast known the Holy Scriptures," but even if she is 
conscious of a want of thorough qualification for her work, let her 
now make her Bible her chief study, and she shall not fail of 
success. 

With regard to the manner of teaching, it must not be supposed 
that the mere reading of a certain portion of the Scriptures daily 
will be sufiicient for the instruction of children. It must be un- 
folded, amplified and illustrated. Suppose the portion selected for 
daily study be the Epistle to the Ephesians. Let the children first 
be made acquainted with the writer, Paul. Tell them of his talents, 
his renown, his persecution of the Christians, his wonderful con- 
version. Next take them to Ephesus, as it existed in the days of 
Paul. Show its natural position upon the map, and describe its cli- 
mate and scenery, its magnificent palaces and temples, and its 
thronging thousands bowing down in idolatry to the great goddess 
Diana. Tell of the first and second visit of Paul to the city, the 
few believers in Jesus that he found there, and the large Christian 
church he subsequently gathered. Tell of their love to him, and 
their passionate tears when he left them. Show them Paul a pri- 
soner at Rome, and depict the coming of the messenger frojn the 
Ephesian church, bringing to him good tidings of " their faith in the 
Lord Jesus, and love unto all the saints." By this time your young 



404 THE BIBLE THE MOTHER'S STUDY. 

auditors will have become deeply interested in Paul, and will most 
warmly sympathize in the love that was borne him by the infant 
church gathered from among the idolaters of Ephesus. And now 
will they commence with minds awake and active to read the letter 
which Paul sent to the Ephesians. And wherever afterwards 
one of these children shall listen to this portion of Scripture, be 
it in the daily school-room, at the family altar, or in the sanctuary, 
it w^ill not be tedious and uninteresting, but will come home as 
something which Paul wrote to the Ephesians. There will be a 
nucleus in the mind about which its truths will gather, and as 
years advance there shall continually unfold before his spirit in 
length, and breadth, and depth, and height, till from the strong 
sleep of sin, he may be roused by its sublime doctrines " as by the 
sound of a trumpet." 

This method of teaching the Bible, by detailing the scenes and 
circumstances of its history, by developing the different characters 
of its actors, and ever keeping in the mind, as far as possible, a 
correct idea of the time and relative order of its events, will be 
found a most important means of intellectual training. It will 
awaken an interest in numerous sources of collateral information ; 
characterized by the minuteness and detail of home instruction, in 
distinction from thp more mechanical routine of school education ; 
it will induce a habit of looking beyond the surface of things, 
and a mental activity which shall delight in its own independent 
search after truth ; and it will give to the child an amount and vari- 
ety of knowledge, considered merely as such, which cannot be derived 
from any other single study. 

But the time is coming w^hen the little ones that cluster around 
the hearth-stone, shall advance to youth, with a love for intellectual 
pursuits, and a rapidly forming taste to enjoy the bright creations 
of genius. Even then the Bible may be the mother's library. As 
she sympathizes with her children in their enjoyment of the beauti- 
ful, the lofty, and the true, let her bring forward for their admira- 
tion, the melodious strains of David, the startling grandeur of 
Job, the rapt-burning fervor of Ezekicl, '' The Ode of Ilabakkuk 
on its wings of shadowing fire," and the sustained and unrivalled 
sublimity of that " mighty orb of song," the divine Isaiah. Here 
is the most perfect of all poetry. Its conceptions tower far above 
the region of human thought, and are clothed in drapery as strange 



THE BIBLE THE MOTHER'S STUDY. 405 

in its unearthly beauty as the gorgeous panorama of dreams. It 
lays its mighty hand on all things animate and inanimate, storms 
and winds and waters, fire and hail, the whirlwind and the flashing 
lightning. It descends into the depths of the earth, and mounts to 
the stars of God, utters its voice from the sacred pavilion of dark- 
ness, on the wings of the morning flies to the utmost parts of 
the sea, and swells its vast and universal song as a tribute to the 
glory of the God of Israel. A taste nourished by such poetry 
will be pure, correct, and refined. It will be better prepared to 
appreciate whatever is worthy of admiration, either in nature or 
art, and fitted to protect its possessor from the blighting influence 
of a demoralizing literature. It will also inspire a reverence for 
the Scriptures, as the unapproachable model, whose lofty heights 
have never been reached by the strongest wing of human genius. 

But the effect of a knowledge of the Bible upon intellectual cha- 
racter is, as we have before said, but a collateral result. It should 
ever be regarded as the means to a grand end, the instrument by 
which a renovation is to be effected in the moral nature. Let the 
mother then faithfully impart to her child this knowledge. Its first 
fruits may be but as the green and luxuriant foliage of a barren 
tree. But it is a tree on which the influences of heavenly grace 
shall descend "as showers on the mown grass," and the Sun of 
Righteousness will shine thereon with light and life in his beams. 
Thus shall it bud and blossom, and bring forth fruit unto eternal 
life. 

Mrs. M. T. Eichards. 



406 THE BIBLE THE MOTHER'S SOLE GUIDE. 



THE BIBLE THE MOTHER'S SOLE GUIDE IN RELIGIOUS 

CULTURE 

Every Christian mother will allow that the religious training of 
her children, is by far the most important and responsible department 
of her great work. Both physical and intellectual education derive 
the chief element of their worth from their subsidiary relation to 
moral and religious development. If, then, the mother need the 
assistance of the Bible in that which is less, how much more does she 
need it in that which is greater. If she find its treasures of wisdom 
of great importance in the mental instruction of her children, where 
its assistance is as one among many sources of knowledge, how much 
more deeply and earnestly should she study the Sacred Word^ to 
guide her in their religious training, in which it is her sole directory, 
her chart, and compass, and polar star. 

From the Bible alone can the mother fully learn the spiritual 
nature, wants, and destiny of her children. Here the great doctrine 
of their immortality, darkly felt after by unaided reason, is brought 
to light ; and the sad truth is revealed that the soul, depraved and 
fallen, rests under a condemnation, which will render that immor- 
tality a curse rather than a blessing. Here is taught the necessity 
of a new and spiritual birth, and the utter inefficiency of human 
agency to produce this marvellous change ; and here alone are 
portrayed the two great goals of the race of human probation, a 
blissful Paradise on the one hand, on the other, a fearful banishment 
from the presence of a holy God. 

The mother who would look upon her child as an immortal being, 
in the clear, startling light of these momentous truths, must herself 
draw them from the treasury of the Scriptures. It is not sufficient 
that she has heard that these are their teachings, knows that they 
are involved in the articles of faith of her religious profession, and 
has a general belief in their reality. To obtain a living, abiding, 
practical conviction that these things are indeed so, let her take 
her Bible as a direct communication from the infinite God, and 
praying for the illumination of that Spirit which alone can lead 



THE BIBLE THE MOTHER'S SOLE GUIDE. 407 

towards all truth, diligently ponder its teachings. In the entire 
history of the race, from the day when Eve yielded to the tempter, 
when the blood of Abel cried unto the Lord from the ground, when 
Noah and his household only were saved from the universal deluge, 
when Lot went forth alone from the doomed cities of the plain, to 
the hour when the Revelator closed the inspired volume upon the isle 
of Patmos, is written the same sad truth of universal depravity and 
guilt. It is revealed in the aggravated idolatries of the chosen 
people, and in the fearful picture of the heathen world, drawn by 
the great apostle of the Gentiles. It is reiterated by Moses, and 
Solomon, by Isaiah, and Paul, and most emphatically asserted by 
the Great Teacher. She who derives her views of this doctrine 
directly from the Scriptures, will look upon her child as a depraved 
being, in whose heart the seeds of evil wait but the development of 
time and circumstance to bring forth their evil fruits. She will know 
that his nature is alienated from the love of God, and that there is 
not only evil to be feared from without, but a sad inheritance of evil 
to be subdued within. The same may be said of the absolute need 
of an atonement, of the necessity of regeneration, the agency of the 
Holy Spirit, the doctrine of future retribution, and all other cardinal 
truths of the Bible. If frequently dwelt upon in the clear light of 
vevealed truth, they will become deep and permanent convictions of 
the mind. 

The mother who has thus acquainted herself with these truths will 
know the spiritual wants of her children. She will feel that they are 
dead in trespasses and sins, and already under the condemnation 
of a violated law ; and that she who hath given them natural birth, 
has no power to renew them unto that spiritual birth, which is 
not of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God. But 
with this view of the utter spiritual destitution of her children, and 
her own inefficiency to produce the great change which must be 
wrought in their natures, she is not disheartened, neither does she 
fold her hands in powerless inaction. The same Bible which has 
made known the wants, reveals the infinite fulness and richness of 
the supply provided for those wants. The long observance of the 
types and shadows of the Mosaic Economy, the smoking altar, the 
veiled Holy of Holies, the sprinkled blood before the mercy seat ; 
with the finished work which their great Antitype wrought out on 
Calvary, all proclaim the truth, that ''without shedding of blood 



408 THE BIBLE THE MOTHER'S SOLE GUIDE. 

there is no remission of sins." And the visions of prophets pointing 
forward, and the words of Apostles pointing backward to that Great 
Sacrifice, reveal its blessed counterpart, " The blood of Jesus Christ 
cleanseth from all sin." The words of Christ assure her, that she 
herself can do nothing, but tell her also of the Comforter, the Spirit 
of all truth, who shall breathe his life-giving energy upon the souls 
of her children, and they shall be created anew in the image of Him 
who hath redeemed them. And the promises, which ensure the gift 
of this Spirit to those who diligently seek it, are so full of hope and 
blessedness, that they make the lame man to leap as an hart, and 
the tongue of the dumb to sing. 

She, who has learned from her own individual examination of the 
Scriptures, the fearful depth and extent of the necessities of her 
children as depraved beings, the blessedness of the inheritance 
promised to them as ransomed beings, and her own responsibility as 
an instrument in the hand of God, in securing to them this inherit- 
ance, will work for their salvation "with fear and trembling," but, at 
the same time with hope and faith, knowing that God shall work in 
them "both to will and to do of His own good pleasure." 

We would also urge the study of the great doctrines of the Bible 
that the mother may become qualified for the religious teacher of her 
children. Her success in this matter, will depend greatly on the 
extent and clearness of her own knowledge. If her views of religious 
truth be vague, wavering, and unsettled, the quick penetration of her 
children will not fail to discover it ; and if, on the other hand, she 
be established and settled in her principles, she will speak as know- 
ing whereof she affirms, and her words will fall upon their hearts, 
with authority and power. She will give to the little ones " the 
sincere milk of the Word that they may grow thereby," and as they 
advance in years and understanding, she will furnish the strong meat 
of revealed truth, that by reason of its use, they may "have their 
senses exercised to discern both good and evil." She will thus lay 
the foundations of their religious character broad and deep, and rear 
the fair structure in symmetry and strength, unassailable by all the 
refinements of a false philosophy, and all the assaults of skepticism 
and infidelity. And with such teaching, from under her vine and 
fig-tree, may go forth a Jonathan Edwards, to build high the impreg- 
nable ramparts of truth, against the strong tides of error, or a 



THE BIBLE THE MOTHER'S SOLE GUIDE. 409 

Martin Luther, whose hands shall shake with giant strength, the 
massive pillars of popery. 

The unconscious influence exerted by the daily life, so indis- 
pensably necessary to the success of the religious teacher, will be 
superadded to the direct instructions of the mother who is a diligent 
student of the Scriptures. The contemplation of the glorious themes 
of the Bible will kindle a fire upon the altar of her heart, which shall 
shine forth in her daily life and conversation. Her children shall 
know and rejoice in its light, and while it gives tenfold power to her 
teachings, it will draw their minds with resistless force to the blessed 
truths, whose influence is cast about her as a garment. She will 
also be animated by the spirit of earnest tenderness that breathes in 
every word of the Divine Redeemer ; and while she softens not the 
voice of Sinai, nor abbreviates the full spirituality of its commands, 
nor lessens its penalties, she also speaks, with a heart full of warm 
exultation in the glory of the atonement, of the unutterable love 
that flows from Calvary ; and the hearts of her children shall be 
attracted and melted by the wondrous power of the cross, the wisdom 
and power of God unto their salvation. 

It is admitted that Bible truth is the instrumentality which the 
Holy Spirit employs in the renewal of the soul ; and we submit, if 
it be not a serious question, not only for the mothers, but the fathers 
of our churches, whether the continued spiritual drought that has so 
long desolated Zion, may not be traced to the neglect of the parental 
instruction of children in the truths of the Bible, as one of its great 
causes. Can we expect a full harvest to spring from sparsely scattered 
seed ? Have we not, in this respect, greatly degenerated since the 
days of expository sermons, and fireside teachings of that admirable 
compend of biblical truth, the Shorter Catechism ? Where shall the 
church look for the supporters of her institutions, for pillars "rooted 
and grounded in the faith," if not to the hearth-stone of Christian 
parents ? And when these shall be aroused to a full sense of their 
momentous responsibilities, and faithfully, earnestly, and prayerfully 
teach their children the law of the Lord, then indeed shall Zion lift 
up her hands, and rejoice on every side. Her waste and desolate 
places shall be too narrow by reason of her inhabitants ; and she 
shall say "Who hath begotten me these?" "Sing heavens; and 
be joyful, earth ; and break forth into singing, mountains ; for 
the Lord hath comforted his people." 



410 THE BIBLE THE MOTHER'S SOLE GUIDE. 

''But," says the mother, "I acknowledge the importance of a 
thorough and earnest study of the Bible, that I may be qualified to 
become the guide and director of my children; but alas, I have not 
the requisite time to devote to it." Yet, mother, though thou 
mayest often be weary with toil to furnish thy little ones with daily 
bread, forget not for them the bread of life which cometh down from 
heaven, of which, if they eat, they shall never hunger. While thy fin- 
gers diligently make the garments wherewithal they shall be clothed, 
neglect not to seek for them the white robes of righteousness, which 
shall cover and adorn their souls. Let their fare be humble, their 
apparel plain, their dwelling lowly, that thou mayest redeem time 
from the cares and labors of this mortal pilgrimage, to guide them 
along the straight and narrow way w^hich leadeth unto eternal life. 
In this path the Bible alone can be their guide. Let it be thy care 
to provide them with the whole armor of truth, that they may walk 
safely through the wilderness of this world, and come off more than 
conquerors, through Him that hath loved them. Fear not, for the 
fruit of thy diligent labor, shall be thy exceeding great reward. 
Thy sons and thy daughters shall be translated from the kingdom 
of darkness into the marvellous light of the kingdom of grace ; and 
thy praise shall mingle with the songs of the angels, rejoicing tliat 
they are made partakers of a spiritual birth, and sealed tc the 
everlasting inheritance of the children of God. 

Mrs. M. T. Richards. 



CHRISTIAN DUTY IN THE CHOICE OF A COMPANION FOR LIFE. 411 



CHRISTIAN DUTY IN THE CHOICE OF A COMPANION FOR LITE. 

In the present intercourse of society, "we have reason to fear that 
there is too much indifference among professed Christians, to the 
great principle by which they should be actuated in the choice of their 
associates. This is apparent in all kinds of association, but in none 
is it so much to be deprecated as in the choice of a companion for 
life. 

If we look over our land how many do we find who seem to have 
cast in their lot among the children of God, while at the same time 
they have formed the most sacred alliance with the children of 
this world. We say seem, because in some instances facts are not in 
accordance with present appearances. When the alliance was formed 
both were in an unconverted state, but since that time, one has been 
adopted into the family of the Lord. This, however, is the excep- 
tion, not the general rule ; for few, we imagine, can be found so 
hardened as to resist the kind expostulations, and earnest entreaties 
of a bosom friend who has just tasted the joys of salvation. 

That the intermarriage of Christians and unbelievers is an evil, no 
one can reasonably doubt. May it not be one cause of the religious 
apathy that seems to have settled down upon our churches like an 
incubus resisting the best efforts to cast it off? Is it not a kind of 
attempt to worship God and mammon — to identify religion with the 
world, which the Great Head of the Church must ever regard wdth 
displeasure, and visit with judgment ? What brought the flood upon the 
earth, but the wickedness resulting from the unhallowed union of the 
sons of God with the daughters of men ? What too, but the influence 
of their ungodly husbands caused the daughters of Lot to disregard 
the solemn entreaties of their father, and, as a consequence to be 
overwhelmed in the destruction of the cities of the plain? Even 
Solomon, we know, much as he delighted in the ways of the Lord 
in his youth, was in after years led into idolatry by his strange wives. 

We would not be severe upon those who have already contracted 
such marriages. We would drop the tear of pity in their behalf, 
rather than visit them with reproach. They are experiencing only the 
natural results of their thoughtless disobedience, both in impaired 
moral influence, and diminished personal happiness ; and all they 



can now do is, to make the best of their circumstances. To this 
end let them be faithful in the discharge of every Christian duty, 
and God may over-rule the very evil of the past, for his own glory 
and the conversion of the loved one. 

Our remarks are especially designed for those who have not yet 
assumed the conjugal relation. To them we would utter a note of 
warning that may be effectually heeded. 

Many a professed Christian, no doubt, while contemplating a pro- 
posal of marriage with an impenitent person, has read with hope the 
words of the Apostle, *' What knowest thou, wife, whether thou 
shalt save thy husband ? or how knowest thou, man, whether thou 
shalt save thy wife?" as if it not only gave them a license to form 
such an alliance, but an encouragement so to do, in prospect of the 
good that might thereby accrue. But, alas ! for the hopes of such, 
this passage is not addressed to the Christian who deliberately seeks 
an impenitent companion, but to one converted after marriage ; for in 
the same chapter in allusion to a Christian widow, he says, " She is 
at liberty to be married to whom she will : only in tlie Lord.'' 
Again the apostle enjoins in distinct terms "Be ye not unequally 
yoked together with unbelievers." Well, therefore, does the author 
of Proverbial Philosophy say, "Seek a good wife of thy God." God 
should be alike honored and consulted in this important matter, and 
surely he who does this will not select a companion from among 
God's enemies. 

The same author again says, 

" Let her be a child of God, that she bring a blessing to thy house. 
A ])lessing above riches, and leading contentment iu its train ; 
Let her be an heir of heaven : so shall she help thee on thy way : 
For those who are one in faith, fight double handed against evil.^' 

A Christian in any situation of life will be sure to meet with hin- 
drances enough in a heavenward course, without in any way courting 
them, or placing them in his own pathway. Yet how can we other- 
wise interpret his conduct, if he unite his destiny to an unbeliever ? 
In what way can he more effectually " tempt Satan to tempt him," or 
furnish the adversary of souls with so decided an advantage over him ? 

Then there is the effect upon the unconverted also to be considered. 
There are weak points in the character of the best Christian which, 
in the intimacy of the marriage relation, will not fail to attract 
notice. These the unconverted companion will be likely to take 



CHRISTIAN DUTY IN THE CHOICE OF A COMPANION FOR LIFE. 413 

advantage of in advancing his schemes of worldly pleasure ; and, 
being unable to make proper allowances for failures in Christian 
duty, his respect for religion may be diminished and his heart may 
be hardened in sin, even by the example of one who would sincerely 
mourn over such a result. 

Here another view presents itself. As human beings we cannot 
repose confidence in those who are intimate with our enemies. How 
then can we expect that God will look with favor upon one who 
places next to Him in affection, a being whose whole life has been but 
a series of disobedience to His commands, of trifling with His love, 
and of grieving His Holy Spirit ? Even our impenitent fellow 
beings cannot fail to look upon such, as traitors to the cause they 
profess to serve. And shall God be less discriminating than they ? 

Moreover when God is not the supreme object of affection, the 
dearest earthly friend is most surely enthroned in the heart as an 
idol. And would you, dear Christian, be willing to occupy your 
loved Saviour's place in the heart of another ? Would you render 
your companion and yourself liable to the judgments denounced 
against idols and their worshippers ? You do this, if you marry not 
in the Lord. 

Nor must we overlook the bearing of our subject upon your 
present happiness. It may be, that from earliest infancy you have 
felt the sacred influence of the family altar : but, be this as it may, 
as a genuine disciple of Christ, you are deeply sensible of the bless- 
ings connected with it. Are you willing to deprive yourself of those 
blessings ? Shall no incense of prayer and praise, so acceptable in 
the sight of God, ascend morning and evening from your domestic 
circle ? Must there be no sweet Christian sympathy existing between 
you and the object of your choicest earthly afiection ? Link yourself 
to an unbeliever, and it will be even so. The blessing will not come, 
and at best the incense that may be ofi"ered, will ascend from a lone 
heart ; and, though perfectly united in everything else, a want of 
sympathy here will "leave an aching void the world can never fill." 

" The triple nature of humanity must be bound by a triple chain, 
For soul, and mind, and body — godliness, esteem, and affection." 

And the stronger the first of these chains is, the more enduring 
will the others prove ; for godliness is the surest of all foundations 



414 CHRISTIAX DUTY IX THE CHOICE OF A COMPANION FOR LIFE. 

for esteem and affection, without which there can be no real domestic 
happiness. 

Nor on entering the marriage relation should we regard simply 
our own individual welfare, but also that of those who may be 
entrusted to our care. We should seek a companion who will aid in 
training our children for the service of the Lord. This aid w« can 
liope to receive only from a true servant of God. Even where there 
is no direct opposition to religious instruction on the part of the 
impenitent parent, its hallowed influence may in a great measure be 
neutralized by a cold indifference to it. Hence it is, that, while we 
frequently see whole families early brought to Christ through the 
united efforts of pious parents, this result is so rarely witnessed 
through the efforts of one alone. 

We should also think of eternity in forming this tie for life. How 
happy must that union be when those, who together humbly followed 
the Saviour amid the trials and temptations of earth, shall meet to 
unite their voices in songs of praise to God and the Lamb forever; 
and how sad must that parting be, when one, loved with the purest 
earthly affection, must leave the presence of God, and dwell in 
darkness forever, uttering with the voice so long listened to with 
pleasure, only ceaseless sounds of lamentation. 

Let us then as Christians awake to duty in regard to this sub- 
ject. As parents, let us endeavor to bring up those entrusted to 
our care in such a manner that, with the blessing of God, they may 
be constrained to yield their first and holiest love to the Saviour, and 
bestow their purest earthly love where they see the most perfect 
reflection of his image. As sons and daughters, let us form an 
alliance with no one who will not be likely to assist us in transmitting 
to the children God may give us, the sacred influence of a deep and 
ardent piety, and thus secure the blessing that God has promised to 
bestow, from generation to generation, upon the children of those 
who love him and keep his commandments. 

J. A. W. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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